


Absolution

by aeskis, redaurorarora



Category: X-Men, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeskis/pseuds/aeskis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/redaurorarora/pseuds/redaurorarora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>basically a series of conversations (arguments) between Erik and Charles, and Mystique and Charles. At first, dark!Erik. Then, BAMF!Charles as a consequence. An alternate take on events from the XM films. nearing the end! - possible rewriting and filling in of EVERYTHING. it'll be super slow-going. *sigh*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the other path

They will turn on us.

Not if we stop a war. Not if we risk our lives doing so.

"I want you by my side," Erik says urgently, still emanating that undeniable charisma beneath the metal helmet obscuring most of his features. "We're brothers, you and I." The terribly fragile weight of Charles in his arms, Charles' hand first clutching at his front and then dropping weakly to the ground, strike him like the smashing final blow never dealt him by this most infuriatingly idealistic of men. "We want the same thing."

Or is it arrogance?

There is great sadness in Charles' too-bright eyes as he looks into Erik's—no, Magneto's deathly earnest face. "My friend," he says, breathing hard against the agony of his injury as blackness threatens his vision. "Oh, my friend … that we do not." Initially stunned by the refusal, Erik's expression closes, until nothing can be read, as though a mask has dropped into place, or a curtain signaling the end of an act.

There's so much more to you than you know.

No, there is only a gripping fear and despair as the momentary peace achieved over the last few weeks dissipates, dying with the faltering rise and fall of his once friend's chest. He is determined not to surrender to a fool's dreams, however, no matter that they are beautful, and rises, motioning for Moira to take his place. Shaw's former henchmen stand a distance away, lost without their leader. The young men, Banshee, Beast, and Havok stumble forward from where he's thrown them, warily keeping an eye on Magneto.

Not just pain, and anger.

"My fellow mutants," he begins. "Their kind will never accept us. They've shown us their hand. Now it's time for us to show them ours." He pauses. "Who's with me?" His gaze goes to Mystique, who looks at him and what he offers with unmistakable longing. Magneto extends his hand. "No more hiding." His eyes move over to Shaw's men; Azazeal, Riptide and Angel stare at him.

Mystique moves slowly, her vision flickering between her foster brother helplessly prostrate on the sand and the strong, powerful figure of Magneto inviting her to join him. Guilt and nearly twenty years of sibling love—and perhaps something more than that—propel her to Charles' side. He looks up at her, trying to smile reassuringly as he takes her hand and kisses it. "You should go with him," he gasps. "It's what you want."

"You promised me you'd never read my mind," Raven whispers in gentle accusation, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Charles' lips curve in mirthless, regretful smile. "I promised you a great many things, I'm afraid." The tight, pained line of Charles' mouth abruptly relaxes, and he goes limp, eyes fluttering closed to hide the blue. Raven gives a small shriek and she and Moira lean over him anxiously. "Charles!"

There's good too ... I felt it.

Good? As Magneto he has no good in him now, only a purpose and total focus on achieving it. And Charles … only the man whose stillness shouts of Erik's guilt, the person to whom he owes so much, saw and believed in that part of him invisible to everyone else, hidden so deeply behind anger and an air of dangerously charming menace. Against his better judgment Erik looks back at the slight form slumped in Moira's cradling arms, and feels that abyss of agony for the second time in his life.

He can't lose Charles. He can't.

He won't.

In her concern for Charles, Moira speaks even in fear of turning Erik's attention to her once again. "We need to get him to a hospital."

Yes. Erik turns. "Azazeal, is it?" The devilish-looking red visage affirms his words with a twisting of his lips. "Will you join me?" The uncertain grimace becomes a grim smile, the expression equally startling as the first. "I will."

"Good." Ignoring Moira's startled, frightened protests, he brushes her aside and lifts Charles' unconscious body, his head lolling against Erik's shoulder. "Transport us to a private facility where Charles can get treatment."

Beast and the other young mutants start. Erik stops them from interfering with a warning look and just the slighest pressure at the metal in their suits. Mystique lays a questioning hand on Erik's arm, gazing into his face beseechingly as her fingers on the other hand brush Charles' tear-stained cheek. He does not need to be a telepath to read her mind.

"Don't worry. He'll be fine." And Erik finds that aching hope in his chest again, that treacherous emoton that fluttered into existence at the kind understanding in the words, You're not alone, Erik. You're not alone as he stared at his unlikely savior incredulously across the few feet of water separating them.

/

Charles does not wake for three weeks, during which time doctors care for his injury and inform the anxiously hovering Raven and Erik, brooding with dark thoughts, that he might never walk again.

Two days into the young man's continued unconsciousness, the metal equipment in the private hospital room begins to rattle ominously, and suddenly Erik strides out the door. Casting a glance at the silent form of Charles on the bed, Raven follows her new leader outside. "I know you're frustrated ..." she trails off, unable to continue at the impossible anguish engraved on Erik's face. Erik clenches and unclenches his hands, whirling away from her and slamming a fist into the wall in a rare display of uncontrol.

"I want him to wake up too," she finishes in a whisper.

Azazeal stands in a sort of lazy slouch against the wall with his tail dragging idle scratches along the floor, Riptide beside him looking only faintly interested at the events transpiring before him. "Emma Frost," he says in his accented tones. "If anyone can find out what's happening in your friend's head, she can."

Erik does not waste time. The thick metal door of Emma's prison screams and crumples into so much scrap; Azazeal could have transported them directly into the chamber in which she is kept, but a display of power can only help his cause.

Defensively in her diamond form, Emma still manages a cool smile, although an undercurrent of nervousness is noticeable. "Where's your telepath friend?"

Magneto's bloodshot eyes are shadowed by the metal helmet, but they are piercing nonetheless. He knows the game to play with this woman. "Mutants ought to reign supreme in this world, and I will make it happen," he states baldly, ignoring her query for the moment. "Care to join me?" The shining facets of her body shift as she looks over at the mutants standing in the doorway, old and new companions alike.

Switching allegiances is apparently not a hardship for those who used to work for Shaw. The gorgeous telepath smiles, more confidently now, as though she can guess what he wants from her through the metal helmet, and changes back to to her svelte, white-clad human form.

Miss Frost is less than pleased when she discovers the true nature of her first assignment. "I could," she admits. "In the state he's in, your friend's an open book."

"Then do it." Erik's warning glance leaves no room for protest.

Emma huffs quietly, but sits beside the hospital bed and closes her eyes in concentration. Several moments pass before she gasps and jerks away, the chair legs screeching on the floor as a fine-boned white hand presses to her forehead.

Alarmed by her reaction, Raven automatically reaches out to steady the woman. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Emma speaks slowly, in uncharacteristic incoherence, still feeling the ghostly vestiges of approaching death. "Somehow …. it's as if he's been killed. Looking through his eyes and seeing through another's as he's held immobile by something …. himself … the coin moving through the air… the trauma of that and the shock of too much loss … he doesn't want to awake and face reality."

There is silence in the room. Raven is afraid to look at Erik, but she musters the courage. His pacing has given way to an absolute stillness. "He was in Shaw's mind when I drove the coin through the bastard's brain," Erik finally says faintly, his face white. "I knew Charles was holding him, but … I didn't … I didn't mean … I didn't think ..." In a fury of self-hatred he tears the helmet from his head, and its clangs sharply against the counter and then more dully against the floor. A nurse who has come to check on the patient shrieks and jumps back.

Erik, please, be the better man. There will be no turning back-!

Azazeal grunts from the hallway, having overhead the conversation. Riptide raises his eyebrows, catching the gist of what happened. "Well, boss, you've certainly ruined the guy's life. Are you sure he's going to be on our side if he gets up?"

Two weeks of sleepless nights and intolerable pacing later, when Erik blearily raises his head from the arms of the chair beside the hospital, his eyes meet Charles' serene gaze.

"It's about time. You've … been a setback to my plans for world domination," Erik manages to say somewhat calmly, reaching for the helmet next to him.

"The guilt overwhelms me." Charles' smile does not quite reach his eyes as they follow Erik's movements, and he seems very weary, sinking back onto the bed from where he had reached for his friend. "Is this what we've come to?" he asks quietly. "Erik, it doesn't have to be this way."

"My name is Magneto now." Suddenly restless and avoiding Charles' eyes, Erik gets to his feet. "I'm not the hapless person who tried to move a submarine and couldn't."

"But you're still drowning in the effort of doing something beyond your power." The remnants of mischief enters Charles' voice. "And that helmet is most unbecoming. I won't even discuss the cape. Raven's idea, yes? She always liked superheroes with an unhealthy passion."

Erik almost returns the fond smile, then recalls himself and his face falls into its now usual tense lines. "It's Mystique, and I'm no hero."

Charles pauses, his fingers worrying at the sheets covering him. "How is … Mystique doing?"

"She's been scared to death for you," Erik answers. "I should tell her you're awake." But he makes no move toward the door.

"Wait," Charles says for him after a moment. "We need to talk."

"Are you prepared for a war with humans?"

Charles stares at him solemnly as though trying to penetrate through the helmet blocking his telepathic abilities. "I would do everything in my power to prevent such a thing from happening."

"Then we have nothing to discuss," Erik counters.

"We do. The last I remember, you made the lines you've drawn quite clear. Ending on that note, why am I here?"

Erik's throat closes, but he bites out the words. "That bullet heavily bruised part of your spine. You're—"

"-probably paralyzed. Yes." Charles sighs tiredly, hands fisting in his lap as he looks at his useless legs. "I pretended to be sleeping when a nurse came in earlier, and her pity … bled out onto me." Erik's own limbs lose strength and he collapses into a chair, recollecting Charles' calmness even at the beginning of their conversation. "I'm surprised you didn't concentrate and kill me before I woke up," Erik says with painful seriousness.

"I won't lie. I thought of it," Charles replies after a moment of strained silence. "But in the end … I'm still the same person who couldn't pull the trigger on his friend."

I won't stop you. I could, but I won't.

Erik wants to laugh, but only the awful recognition of tears filling his eyes comes. "You self- righteous, pompous fool," he snaps, to hide the wetness at the edges of his vision. It's true. Charles has the arrogance of a young man who has always gotten what he wanted, always known he was right, except he isn't. But his disarming innocence and kindness smoothes the rough edges, and that is what wrecks Erik the most.

"Why am I here, Erik?" Charles repeats gently, his eyes the same self-assured, bright blue.

It's not just me you're walking away from.

And Erik realizes he can't articulate an explanation. Charles will never willingly join the Mutant Brotherhood. What is he hoping to achieve? Everything he's done in his life has been for a reason, toward a focused—and usually fatal—conclusion. What use will a disinclined Charles be to him and his cause, except a liability and danger?

Charles turns his face to the door a moment before Raven's footsteps can be heard rounding the corner to the room.

"Charles? Charles!" Raven's exuberantly happy voice rings forth at seeing the patient awake. She hastily sets the tray of food meant for Erik aside and rushes forward to fling her arms around her brother. He oofs and returns the fervent embrace. "You've had a change of names as well as address,"

Charles laughs. "Mystique, I hear." His gaze softens as he pulls back slightly to look at her, blue and scaled and utterly herself. "You're looking so well." There is recognizable guilt in the compliment, but Mystique chooses to ignore that and busies herself by bustling about Charles.

Erik watches the foster siblings chatter animatedly to each other with the ease of familiarity.

Well, Raven is practically bouncing words about how the the fledging mutants so recently under their care are doing back at the mansion, and her new life, while Charles lies back and happily listens, too exhausted to contribute equally to actual conversation. It's sweetly touching, and for a few minutes Erik vicariously shares in the joy.

Raven glances at Erik and generously gestures for him to join in. "Magneto has been a most devoted mother hen," she teases, "flapping about her chick."

Charles smiles slightly, amused and clearly touched. "Is that so?"

"I am not a female chicken," Erik tries to interject feebly, helplessly chuckling at the undignified image of himself fluttering about.

Raven giggles, "But you did flap."

All three look at each other, and fall to laughing.


	2. liminal

In one of the living rooms of the now horribly quiet and extravagantly large mansion, Alex sits in a similar posture to the one he held in prison, his head buried in his hands. Sean for once is silent, and that is telling of the tension under which they all labor, while Hank curves his furred, clawed hands and growls softly every so often. At last Moira breaks into speech, saying what is on all their minds.

"We need to get Charles back."

"But ..." Hank hesitates. "We don't know even know where he is."

Alex puts in, "There're the letters from Raven. Can you trace them?"

Sean reminds, "She warned us not to try to find them. If Magneto wanted, he could just have the scary-looking red dude move them somewhere else."

Moira straightens her bowed shoulders in determination. "It's been three weeks. We have to do something. Charles is owed that much, at least."

Her connections with the CIA are less than impressed with this line of reasoning. "I say good riddance, McTaggart," her superior snaps. "One missing mutant is not going to stir this department into unnecessary action."

"Charles Xavier is a hero!"

"He's damned dangerous and possibly on the run from state identification!"

Moira almost hits him before taking a deep breath to prevent herself from action which would only hurt her petition. More and more often she finds herself astounded by the incredible blindness and stupidity of her species.

"Is that what you're planning?" Alex demands, having heard the last part of the shouting match and coming up to them. "To round us off to jail when all we've done is prevent World War III? We saved your ungrateful asses-"

"You little hoodlum-" McCone glares threateningly and seems ready to call for backup.

"I'm quitting," Hank says suddenly, his yellow gaze cold.

McCone's lip curls angrily as he turns to the massive beast-like figure, and a look of disgust and fear is evident on his face. But McCoy is a genius. "You can't do that. You need to rebuild the Blackbird and show us how-"

"About that. I'm sure the minions working for you will figure something out." Sean guffaws at McCone's expression, and the strident sound drowns out the latter's furious reply.

/

After they have settled down from their ridiculous fit, Raven presses Erik to"take off that metal can" because "it's only Charles here."

Reminded, Erik withdraws immediately into himself. "He's why I have it on." The atmosphere in the room grows dismal. Raven bites her lip in vexation at her new leader's obstinacy and seems about to push the issue, but Charles pats her hand. "I'm sure Erik will divest himself of that uncomfortable monstrosity when he's ready," he assures her.

She smiles in reply, but is clearly troubled at this rift in the relationship between the two men dearest to her.

"Mystique." The commanding tone in Magneto's voice causes her to sit up straighter. "I think Angel needs someone to look in on her. After all, her wings are still recuperating."

"Yes, but-

" Raven isn't entirely fond of Angel, but at a glance from Magneto, obeys with a quick squeeze to Charles' fingers. She exits the room after a promise to Charles to visit him again soon. There is a hint of disapproval in Charles' demeanor at Erik's treatment of his sister, but he chooses to remain silent for the moment.

Silence fills the room as the last sounds of Mystique's retreating steps die away. "Would you like to go outside?" Erik asks abruptly.

Charles' lips quirk in a genuine, boyish smile of delight, and Erik feels that fission of comfort at the palpable ease with which Charles still treats him. "That would be splendid."

/

Erik wheels Charles through the hospital gardens. The latter is obviously basking in the little sunlight, somewhat dim as it is hidden behind greyish clouds. "Even you have to admit you were wrong." Erik convinces himself that he will not act smugly on the strength of his better acumen regarding humans and their inevitable negative reactions.

"About?" Charles queries innocently, trying unsuccessfully to lean down and pick a flower; the chair's arm blocks him.

Erik rolls his eyes and seizes a thin wrist, forcing Charles to look up at him. "Don't be an idiot as well as naïve."

Charles squints exaggeratedly as he meets Erik's exasperated gaze. "The light is glinting off the metal on your head," he complains in a plaintive voice. Then he sighs deeply, looking away. "That was a poor sampling of the much vaunted humanity of homo sapiens."

"Then, don't you see what must be done?" Erik lets Charles' hand go, only to crouch down and grasp his shoulders a moment later in his desperation to persuade the man.

Charles does not flinch, meeting his gaze squarely now. "There is still a chance for reconciliation. Humans and mutants can live together. I believe it."

"They don't." Erik starts to run his fingers through his hair before remembering the helmet. "How can you, who can read minds, still have this blind faith in their goodness?"

What do you know about me?

Charles smiles, in a manner sad yet strangely bright. "The same way I believe that you, my friend, will be the better man."

Everything.

/

"How are the others doing? Hank, Alex, Sean, Moira …?" Charles inquires of Raven, who is fussing with his blankets. He is dressed in casual clothing, the result of much irritation with hospital gowns.

"The last I heard, they were fine." Raven avoids his questioning gaze, looking somewhat guilty, a slight flush under the blue color of her cheeks.

"Fine?" he repeats slowly, sitting up despite his sister's attempts to make him lie down. She bites her lip at seeing the struggle even this small movement is. "When was the last time you heard from them?"

"A few weeks ago," she says defensively. "I was a bit concerned about your well-being, you know. And Erik's off building something-"

"I'm as recovered as I'll be without walking out that door," Charles says, a little more harshly than he intends. Raven flinches.

Perceiving this, Charles sighs and leans back. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you."

"Are you angry with Magneto?" Raven asks quietly, after a pause.

"Should I be? If I were to be trapped in this place, that would be adequate reason for me to harbor some resentment against him, wouldn't it?"

She is genuinely shocked. "Charles, how can you think we'd imprison you? As soon as you're well ..." Her face crumples. "On the beach, I thought we'd have to part ways forever. But if you stay with us, then-"

"Dear Raven." He takes her hand and holds it in his own. "Don't fret. I didn't mean to upset you." She tries to smile at him and doesn't quite succeed, and eventually leaves the room. Charles settles back into the bed and lifting his fingers to his temple, closes his eyes.

Moira.

A startled gasp. Charles! Are you alright? Where are you?

I'm doing as well as can be expected. How is everyone?

Bearing up. Don't worry. Now, answer my question. Where are you?

An island—the mental connection is suddenly cut off. Erik had come in unnoticed and immediately

guessed what Charles was doing. Swearing, he pulls Charles' hand away from his head and smashes it onto the metal railing. Charles winces but keeps silent, only looking at Erik reproachfully.

"You were contacting that woman, weren't you." It is not a question.

Charles does not bother to deny the accusation. "It's Moira. And you can't keep me here." He stares pointedly at the grip Erik still has on his hand. Erik expels an angry breath and releases his hold.

"Damnit, Charles!"

What did you just do to me?

"If you'd only see sense—"

"You mean your way of things. We will be forever divided on this subject. As you once said, do you have it in you to allow that?" Erik has to smile a little at how Charles is so dependent on his mind-reading ability that without it, he usually miscalculates people's reactions and chooses exactly the wrong words to say.

It was a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you.

With that prompting, he had moved the satellite, a veritable and proverbial mountain. He can't do without such strength, not when he needs it the most in the coming war against humans. And he certainly cannot let it be on the opposing side.

"Come with me," Erik says abruptly. Charles frowns in confusion, but is given no choice as Erik throws off the blankets and lifts him with less than maximum effort, depositing his burden onto the wheelchair.

/

"Where are we going?" Charles asks a little nervously but as yet without real fear; Erik wheels him through the empty hallways. His inability to read Erik's mind has him groping for a consciousness to latch onto. A few nurses are at the outer edges of the hospital; the center of the building is curiously lacking in people.

Erik doesn't answer him. There is a nearly visible aura of fury emanating from his body, and only belatedly does Charles, not seeing him, realize this. He cranes his neck to face his friend. "Erik, what's wrong?"

Erik laughs shortly, the sound harsh in both their ears. "You really don't know, do you?" The wheelchair whirls around to face him, and Charles grips the arms to stop himself from lurching. He frowns, clearly wondering what is going on Erik's erratic mind. "Sometimes I wonder who's the telepath, me or you."

Listen to me very carefully, my friend.

"So clueless," Erik mocks with an affected air of carelessness. "Defenseless. Pathetic." Despite his words, Charles' earlier, heartfelt words and others, said over the course of a few weeks, has reverberated in his head and embedded themselves into his skin, and he wonders if Charles really isn't in his mind.

Charles' mouth tightens and his eyes narrow. What would surely be a painful mental blow to Erik dissipates into a pressure hard enough to make him stagger back, but only for a few moments, while Charles falls back, exhausted from the effort as well as his weeks of enforced bed rest.

Two nurses come running, a blank expression on their plain faces, presumably called by Charles. "Will you take me back to my room, please," Charles requests of them, a hard look on his face as he glares at Erik. So he has ruffled the great telepath's composure. He wants Charles to be angry, to make his own ire rise, to make this easier for himself

Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.

No, peace is not an option, not when a formidable dilemma presents itself so blindly, so idiotically before him. Erik grins, though amusement is the last thing he feels, and blocks the blank-faced women from assisting Charles. "Call off your slaves."

"They're not my slaves, and I'll do as I please-" Charles starts to say indignantly.

Erik interrupts him. "Not slaves? Seems like the worst kind of domination to me, that power you have. You're no saint; can you really say you haven't abused it?" He doesn't wait for an answer, and suddenly jerks his elbow a hair's breadth from one of the nurse's abundant belly. "Call them off, or they'll get hurt."

Charles stares at him, shocked at this turn of events. "But ... they're innocent," he begins tremulously.

"Not as long as they're under your control."

After a long moment, Charles takes a deep breath, and as if on cue the two women turn around and stiffly walk back down the hall. "Very well. I've done as you wanted. Now will you kindly inform me of the reason for such threats of violence?"

Erik ignores his demand. "If you call anyone else, I promise you there will be casualties." This is Charles' main weakness, one of many; his care for these wretched, weak humans.

"You've made your point quite clear. No need for demonstration, thank you," Charles says tightly. Erik surprises him by laughing. "So proper, even in a dire situation."

"Is this a dire situation?" Charles asks carefully.

They've reached an innocuous-seeming door, and he maneuvers the young man in the wheelchair through it. Inside is a white-washed room, much like any other in a hospital, except that it is bare of any but toilet accessories and a shower; there are curious slits in the roof.

Depleted of energy by his mental exertions, Charles has had his eyes closed until he feels the wheelchair movements stop. "Why are we stopping here?" he murmurs tiredly.

Erik smiles oddly, though since he is behind Charles, the latter can't see it. "You could say we've reached the end of a long hallway and are standing at a door."

"Well, of course-" Charles says irritably, fingers coming up to rub aching temples. Suddenly he sits up and takes stock of his surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Would you care to repeat your response to my invitation?"

Charles stares at him, knowing immediately this time what Erik means. "I won't be a part of this—this genocidal devastation. Can't you see it'll only end in total destruction for everyone involved?"

"Is that your final answer?" Erik inquires, in an eerily quiet voice, the game-show humor of the question lost in the tense moment.

Charles on a subconscious level realizes Erik's plans but still cannot bring himself to believe his friend capable of such action. "I—yes-"

In a smooth motion, metal screens fall into place from the slits in the roof. Charles' eyes widen at the sudden silence in his ever probing mind.

"Nice, isn't it? It's designed of the same material as this helmet. If you can be kept out, surely … you can be kept in."

"Erik … let me go." Magneto does not answer, his eyes hooded and dark beneath the helmet's shadow as Charles tries to suppress his growing fear at the awful silence of the void into which he has been forced. "Let me go!" He pulls ineffectually at his wheelchair, but the metal of the wheels is rooted to the ground.

When you can access all that, you will possess a power no one can imagine.

"It's your decision, Charles." Magneto pauses at the door, his back to his former friend as he speaks. "But there's only one choice." And then he is left, utterly alone.

Not even me.

"Erik!"


	3. in the room

Hours later, Erik returns to the room with a tray of food. Charles is dozing fitfully, trying to get into a comfortable position in his chair on the other side of the room. Like this, he looks small, much unlike the forceful presence he puts forth to the world. The existence of the powerful mind inside the slight body curled in on itself is difficult to believe.

Deflecting the bullet away from himself … a scream from Raven, and a choked cry from Charles … turning .. falling … hitting the sand …

He himself doesn't understand why he's doing what he is.

After putting the tray down, Erik closes his hand into a fist. Metal from the wheelchair's arms snake around Charles' wrists and close around them. He does not bother with the ankles. "What-!" Charles wakes up and releases a startled gasp.

In a few long strides Erik is across the room and leaning over him, grasping his chin and looking carefully at his face. Charles' features are too boyishly soft to be considered handsome, but there is something indescribably charming and charismatic about him when he chooses to exercise his considerable talents.

Charles tries to twist away but bound as he is, fails. His hands clench on the wheelchair and he shuts his eyes to avoid Erik's examining gaze.

"How long are you planning to keep me here?" he snaps through gritted teeth.

Erik releases him. "Well, that depends on your cooperation."

"Raven-"

"She's on a mission for me and won't be back for some weeks. The others, if not entirely approving, won't interfere."

"Are you putting her in danger?" Charles demands furiously.

"We all knew the potential consequences when forming the Brotherhood." Erik goes over to the tray and wheels it over.

"Is that what the Brotherhood does? Send children to fight? For God's sake, Erik-"

"She's not a child," Erik retorts coldly. "That assumption was your mistake and why she chose to come with me instead of stay with you."

Charles bites back a response, miserably recognizing the truth of Erik's statement.

Despite his attempts to plan his next move, Erik has spent the last few hours thinking and has come to the conclusion that, in some way, he is in almost as deplorable a condition as Charles must be.

It is as though Charles can read his mind, as he laughs softly in a bitter tone. "Am I causing a hitch in the Almighty Magneto's agenda? Is that why he's come to punish the erring mortal with remembrances of failure?"

"You're doing this to yourself," Erik returns evenly.

"Allow me to differ from that biased opinion. You're absconding from responsibility again," Charles reprimands, in a nearly normal voice. "Do you think, even if you succeed in what you want, there won't be a human weapon who rises up against your tyranny, your persecution of his kind, much as yourself?"

"Don't presume to lecture me," Erik warns, the metal tray beneath his fingers twisting frightfully. An apple rolls precariously to the edge, and the milk in a bowl of cereal sloshes over the side.

Charles grins, a ghostly and chilling remnant of his usual warming smile. "Come on, then. I'm obviously unarmed, while you've seen to having the entire room at your disposal. I can't fight back. Isn't that the kind of victim you want, you bastard?"

There are thousands of men on those ships. Good, honest, innocent men.

Erik flushes with anger. His righteous crusade is being turned into mere bloodlust. The metal of the wheelchair writhe around Charles' wasted body, a handle even wrapping around his throat, before Erik regains control of himself and recognizes the edge of desperation underlying Charles' words.

Erik laughs, the sound echoing dully in the room. "Good try, Charles. You can’t goad me into doing what you want."

Found out, Charles goes white. "God, Erik," he says in a ragged whisper. "You don't know … you don't know what you're doing to me. There is nothing, nothing ..."

"I'm sure only you can appreciate the full experience, but do let me know how it goes," Erik replies in a clinical tone, in an unaware mimicry of Shaw's professionalism. He bends down to ensure that the wheelchair is put back in proper order.

Freed, Charles leans forward and spits in his face. "You didn't kill Shaw, you meglomaniac. You're his living embodiment, his greatest success."

Before he can stop himself, the child who watched his mother die rebels against this assertion and wins over the adult who overtly agrees with it, and Erik's arm lashes Charles across the face. Charles reels, the wheelchair almost tipping over before it and his head slams into the wall behind him.

I don't want to hurt you … don't make me!

The wheelchair is still tottering and finally falls over, taking with it Charles, who is too dazed to even instinctively protect himself when he hits the floor.

The wheels on the chair spin idly.

The memory of grappling for the fate of the men on the ships on the beach, gaining the upper hand, striking the weaker body struggling under his—Erik, stop!-until Charles' head snapped to the side, becomes more real than the metallic room where he is standing lost and afraid. Erik steps back shakily and surveys the damage, his hand reaching out involuntarily.

I'm so sorry ... I-I said back off!

/////

Several more weeks pass dully, and the phantasmal pain gripping Erik is almost ever-present, like the weight of the helmet on his head, even when he's not in the same room with Charles. He doesn't need the helmet now, actually, and it would be a material relief to have it off, but he finds himself placing it on his head every day, as though he's going to battle.

Magneto schemes of mutant supremacy; his latest project has Mystique gone with Frost to quietly sound out what the higher-up humans were thinking and contriving after the missile debacle. Azazeal is with them to be able to spirit them away should anything go amiss. Riptide and Angel have gone scouting for other mutants Shaw earlier had come across, to persuade them to join the better side of the coming war.

Erik thinks of Charles. As time wore on, the man had tried a few more tactics. Screaming is not an option; the outer walls behind the metal are soundproof, and before leaving Frost had ensured that the few doctors and nurses in the building do not come near his room; they do not even question Charles' sudden disappearance from his bed. The long-term mental implant had been a taxing and time-consuming effort for Frost, but she had known enough not to question his reasons. Now they don't even see him coming and going.

She doesn't particularly care for the idea of two operating telepaths—one is superfluous. She's taken care to be useful to Magneto—her side mission is to block, frustrate, and otherwise thwart 'Moira and friends' efforts to find Charles when, inevitably, they look to the government for resources.

Magneto is the only one remaining at this little island hideaway. He tells the others it's because his powers were so prominently on display, with the lifting of the submarine and the turning of the missiles, that he ought to recuperate as well as allow the humans some deceptive breathing room.

Charles had tried to starve himself, but Erik quickly put a stop to that when he noticed the increasing pallor of the other man's skin and the protrusion of his bones where the thin pajamas fell against his originally slim, now almost emaciated, body. He had force-fed him, brutally when necessary. It had seemed to work; a few days later, he recognized the smell of vomit in the sink.

Mutely defiant at first, Charles had broken down after Erik had taken the opportunity to remind him that Moira and the little school of mutants were increasingly becoming a nuisance with their blatant inqueries on Charles' and thus Erik's location. They could, he tonelessly reminded Charles, become casualties in war

In truth, he doesn't know if he could bring himself to harm the little group, faltering already without their kindly leader. But Charles doesn't know what Magneto won't do anymore.

Today he finds a fully clothed Charles slumped in the shower, open-eyed, the water running, running like a sheet of clear, flexible metal over him. Erik reaches over and switches off the shower head. The blank expression on Charles' face doesn't suit him—he is always alert and searching.

Many times in the last few weeks Erik has questioned himself, his quest. And so often he has wanted to go back a time when he and Charles were not at odds, when he had been part of a family, laughing as Banshee attempted to fly. Havok's attempts to direct his destructive energy were less amusing in nature, but still evoked smiles. So few memories he had of those moments, so very few, yet each one worth remembering, like those he had of his mother.

But invariably he lets the fear and isolation he felt under Shaw's clinical treatment take over, sharpening and hardening into an irresistible pride in his own kind's superiority and the need to secure the continuance of the species.

Charles had only said aloud what Erik already knew and thought he had accepted. Erik has for all intents and purposes become Magneto, and Magneto is Shaw's creation.

But there is an inexorable part of Erik that has come to need Charles, even when he knows that what he wants is falling through his fingers the harder he tries to hold it.

/////

One morning, as Erik enters and his eyes sweep the room through habit, he realizes that the wheelchair and room are empty. It's impossible, but he can't deny the evidence of absence directly before him. He is too shocked to even recognize the air whistling as Charles swings the heavy metal tray into his back. Erik stumbles forward, grunting in pain as he hits the ground; the metal helmet has no padding. Bright lights explode in his head. Stunned, he dimly realizes Charles has thrown the door open and then managed to pull off his helmet, hitting him again to ensure that he will stay down.

Through dangerously wavering vision he only then understands what he sees when claw-like hands drag him onto his back. Charles is precariously standing over him holding the helmet, chest heaving, sweat dampening his hair. "I should kill you-" Charles hisses, pale face flushed with exertion and righteous fury.

The helmet seems to fall down toward him, and Erik is too dazed to block it. Then abruptly everything coalesces into silent darkness.

Charles staggers out the door, bloodstained metal dragging at his fingers.

/////

Author's note: I had a few questions about Charles "staggering" out the door. So, in this story, the doctors' verdict was that Charles MIGHT walk again. During his imprisonment, Charles has secretly been regaining the use of his legs as a hidden card up his sleeve while Erik thought he had the upper hand; then Charles stages his desperate escape attempt.

/////

When Mystique and Frost return to the remote island hospital to rest and make their report to Magneto, they are greeted with absolute quiet. Having grown to depend on each other despite a continued mutual coolness of personal feelings, Mystique changes into her lovely blond persona and nods to the icily beautiful Frost to examine the situation. Azazeal walks at her elbow, blades at the ready as Mystique switches on the lights.

Bodies slumped in the hallways alert them them to obvious fact that something is very wrong. "They're just unconscious, for a day at least," Frost informs her wary companions. "Don't worry for now; there are no hostile persons here."

"Where are Magneto and Charles?" Mystique inquires in worry, glancing around. Relaxing, she turns back into her blue form as she and Azazeal look into the rooms.

Frost concentrates again, then frowns. "The telepath's trademark signal is all over this place but he himself isn't here."

"Charles did this?" Mystique demands in disbelief. "He must have been frightened—defending himself-"

Frost shrugs elegantly. "Whatever happened, it was powerful, and apparently Xavier didn't care about leaving strong traces of mental tampering,"

On her regular questioning on Charles' condition, Magneto had tersely given the same answer: since her departure Charles had slipped into a temporary coma, but the doctors were sure he would wake up soon. Soon had become weeks and then a few months, and Raven wanted to come back, even for a moment, with Azazeal, but Magneto had ordered her to remain so as not to alert any surveillance that might be following them.

Raven couldn't fathom what could have caused Charles to assail these people. Maybe he had woken up and been disoriented—and where was Magneto?

"There're something ... conflicted ... dark ... at the end of the hallway," Frost comments a little uncertainly as they venture further into the hospital. "I think … it's Magneto."

Raven breaks into a run, but skids to a stop at the partially open doorway, somewhat afraid of what she'll discover. She steels herself, however, and pushes the metal door open.

Inside there are, peculiarly enough, sheets of metal on the walls, and she vaguely notices that the door locks from the outside. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and she sees the glint of Magneto's helmet thrown haphazardly. Then … Magneto is lying on the floor, so still that when Raven drops to her knees to hurriedly check his vitals, she almost misses the slow rise and fall of his chest. There is a small pool of blood underneath his head, trailing from a cut on his scalp.

"The telepath's handiwork again," Frost says, walking up behind Mystique.

Azazeal grunts. "Xavier's wreaked some impressive havoc here while we were away."

In panic Mystique gestures for Frost to come closer. "Can you do anything?"

Frost closes her eyes and concentrates. "It'll take a few days for him to wake up, if he's lucky; it feels like Xavier just blasted his mind—but not at full power, otherwise, he wouldn't be alive at all."

Mystique's lips tremble and tears trickle down her face as conflicting fury heats in her breast. "Charles—why would you do this!"


	4. the rescue

Lurching like a drunken man on the beach, Charles fights to stay conscious and focus.

Moira …

Charles! Don't fob me off—where are you!

He tells her and a mental image of his surroundings, then collapses in the sand to the sound of the waves gently lapping the shore and the last thoughts of Hank: We've coming … don't worry about anything … just don't move!

Sean: We sure missed you … you're one wanted guy … but not like on the criminal list ...

Alex: You don't know what we would have given for a telepath these past few months …

A few hours later, Charles is safely wrapped in blankets and sleeping fitfully on the floor of a compact, silent helicopter designed by Hank technically for government purposes.

In fact, only Hank and Moira are really needed for the present, the former to pilot and the latter to care for Charles, but Alex had argued loudly about emergency situations and once Banshee opened his mouth, everyone else shut theirs.

Moira closes her eyes and tightens her comforting grip on Charles' clammy hand. The telepath is very pale and drawn, and from his troubled murmurings it is clear that his dreams are not pleasant.

"Will the Professor be okay?" Sean asks in a whisper which suppressed emotion causes to screech a bit. The window panes rattle in irritation, everyone winces … and Charles remains motionless. Hank calls from the front, "We've already checked his vitals—nothing's physically wrong with him."

Alex chews on his lower lip, and mutters, "But everything's not all fine ..." The immediate area around his chest glows red just a very little bit, and immediately detecting the rising temperature from the control panels in the small enclosed space, Hank growls a warning.

Moira tries to smile encouragingly. "Come on, boys. We need to give Charles more time than three hours to recover from whatever he's been through." Pressed by urgency, they had forborne from investigating the rest of the tiny island; they had what they had come for.

Alex asks earnestly, "You'd tell us if the situation was really bad, wouldn't you?"

"Of course not," Moira quips warmly. "What kind of honest person do you think I am?"

Sean grins, then starts to blink tiredly. "I think … I'll take a nap," he announces. Without further ado or bothering to change clothes, he settles down comfortably beside the sleeping Charles and forthwith nods off. After a few minutes, Alex's eyes droop and he tilts precariously from his perch on the other side of Charles until he's snoring softly as well.

They'd been pulled at a moment's notice from their beds in the wee hours of the morning, but now that they had acquired their precious cargo, they can rest peacefully.

Moira blinks back tears. Her boys. But when Hank begins to emit deep-throated yawns, she quietly threatens to sing bawdy Irish songs with a Scottish accent.

/////

Several days later, when Erik wakes up, he does so laughing.

Mystique, who is standing beside the hospital bed, flinches back as though he has gone insane. In all probability he has. Riptide stares and if anything can be discerned from Azazeal's forever imperturbable crimson face, he too is troubled at the possibility that their leader has mentally snapped. Only Frost shrugs, but even she is at least mildly surprised.

"Why are you laughing?" Mystique demands in bewilderment, after many moments pass and Erik continues to chuckle wildly. "I don't see anything funny about this situation!"

At last his ironic mirth subsides, but he's still grinning, an expression infused with a pained grimace. "My God, Charles," Erik finally whispers breathlessly, spent from his fit of terrible merriment. "Between rage and serenity, eh?"

 

/////

 

At night the dreams of the four in the mansion are disturbed with blurry flashes of images involving an oddly distorted Magneto, but mostly feelings of unbearable loneliness and a building fury.

Charles is projecting again.

After the flight, as if on cue Charles had woken and asked for some water. In response Moira had cajoled him into eating as well. He had smiled weakly at the numerous questions about his present condition, but for some strange reason no one could bring himself (in Moira's case, herself) to ask about what had happened. Surely Charles would tell them in his own time.

He goes through the motions of rehabilitating with a personal physical therapist and a doctor to monitor his progress to strengthen his body. The physician says frankly that he is shocked at the medical anomaly of Charles managing to walk at all. It's almost as though, he adds, Charles mentally willed himself to walk again.

Moira and the boys don't argue with that assessment. After all, Charles might very well be capable of it.

But despite outward signs of progress, clearly the past few months bother him greatly. He frequently stares off into nothing, lost in his own troubled thoughts. When the helicopter rescuing him had first landed at the mansion, he had stared and stared as if he had never seen it before.

To be honest, Hank, Alex and Sean are afraid to broach the subject of their mentor's obvious internment, while Moira tries desperately to give her dear friend the space he needs. They are all worried that, while the release of words may bring healing, it might cause a complete breakdown as well, one from which the sensitive and currently vulnerable Charles will not recover.

However tightly Charles reins in his emotions during the day, he cannot control them when he sleeps and his careful guard dissipates into unconsciousness. The first night Charles slept without the others in his room Sean had actually woken up screaming, a strident alarm which had the effect of gathering everyone into the living room. Charles had been the last to arrive, pallid and appearing sickly. He had paused in the doorway, blanching further as he quickly scanned everyone's minds.

"I'm so sorry," he says quietly. "I didn't mean for this to happen." He sighs wearily. "I think it would be best if we separated, and—"

"No," Hank says immediately and decidedly for all of them. "We want to be here." He smiles reassuringly, and jokes cautiously, "Besides, remember that we have nowhere else to go?"

The three boys almost in unison suddenly recall with striking clarity the offer both Shaw and Magneto made them, to join them in their cause of forcefully championing mutant supremacy. Not one can deny that he was tempted, but after recalling the kindness with which each had been received, especially Charles' warm reception, they had pulled back from that abyss. And now, after seeing what the potential violence of Magneto's ideas, they think that he can keep them to himself.

After a long silence, Alex is the first, with a timidity uncharacteristic to his usual brashness, to ask, "… why?"

The empty metal helmet on the fireplace mantle, incongruous beside dainty figurines and porcelain wares, glints an eerie crimson in the light of the dancing flames. Charles glances over at the memento a moment before meeting the gazes of his friends; he runs a hand over his tousled hair and tries to smile. In addition to her worrying, the fastidious woman in Moira notes that he needs a haircut. "It's … difficult to express." 

It is at this point that each of them wishes he was a telepath.

/////

"I should kill you," Charles hisses, a frightening snarl distorting the usual ineffable smile.

Erik can only squint at him uncomprehendingly from the ground, darkness washing in and out of his vision. His head and lower back throb agonizingly, and he can feel but does not understand a warm wetness trickling down his neck.

For a few heartstopping moments Charles simply stands unsteadily with the helmet raised in his hands, glaring down at Erik. Then he collapses to his knees and half-sobbing, screams hoarsely his frustration and impotent fury, a trembling wreck of the man he had been.

Soon Charles gathers some control and drags himself to Erik, who is still staring dazedly at the white ceiling. "You … will never … hurt me again," he promises bitterly. He places the fingers of one hand on his temple, and presses the others to the side of Erik's bloodied head.

And then there is oblivion.

"Charles!" Magneto abruptly comes awake, heart pounding. The metal in the devices monitoring his condition begin to rattle alarmingly.

In a chair beside him, Mystique jolts from a light doze, blue skin rippling in alarm. "What's wrong?" she inquires immediately in concern.

For a few moments he doesn't answer her, rather occupied with finding that answer out for himself. As blank succeeds blank, however, he has to concede defeat. "What just happened?" Magneto asks finally, pressing the palms of his hands to his burning eyes. Directly before waking, he had grasped something very important—

Mystique automatically starts to answer, and then pauses. "What do you remember?" she presses instead.

He tries to think, and his thoughts sputter out in fragments. "A white room—a red flash of pain—Charles standing over me—black—"

Her lips thinned in anger at this revelation of past events, Mystique nevertheless reminds him gently, "That was a week ago. You've been in and out of it ever since."

Even as he looks at her, uncomprehending of the amount of time he has lost, the memories return with violence and shutter through his mind like the horrendous fast forward of a film on a theater screen. Magneto goes stiff, his face becoming blank in reaction to the internal conflict roiling within.

"We know what happened," Mystique assures him, completely misreading his expression. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have stopped Charles if he wanted to leave." Her features harden. "He must have lost his mind and just struck out. That's the only way I can believe he'd hurt anyone like that."

Magneto stares at her. If they all know, how can she sit there so calmly, so anxious to comfort him?

She thinks she knows what happened, a dry voice says in his mind. And it is then that Magneto notices the absence of his helmet. And I await your directions, Magneto, as to whether I should continue to allow her misapprehensions.

A headache begins to build, and absently he rubs his temple. I … I'll tell her myself. And get out of my head, Frost, he adds as an afterthought. With a turn of a mental high heel, Emma complies.

Once a potential ally and brother-in-arms, Charles is now a terrible liability and loose cannon. Magneto can admit his own destructive role in the dynamics of their relationship, but if Charles had only listened … fuck. Everything has gone so very wrong.

"Tell me what you found in Washington and Moscow," he instructs Mystique brusquely. She smiles in relief at this return to normal behavior and begins to report.

Later, he thinks. I'll tell her the truth … and think about what to do with Charles … later. He doesn't think he can take Mystique's betrayed expression at the moment.

Sometime afterward Mystique pats his hand and leaves as Magneto cites a headache. In fact images of his former friend occupy his thoughts despite his attempts to thrust them from his mind, and the myriad ugly possibilities sink brutal teeth into him.

If he'd assumed Charles could be forced into submission, he had certainly been proven wrong. Magneto is furious for allowing himself to be so easily deceived; he had assumed Charles' blank pliancy to be the sign of a bending mind, and all the while it had been a convincing act to allay suspicion. And then, from that heady moment on the beach, when he had held all the cards of fortune on his side and Charles had been helpless to stop him, he had arrogated the notion that he was the more powerful.

But he had underestimated Charles' ability for subterfuge, though really he ought to have known better. Had he not prided himself on his ability to read men and their dark natures? And if a metaphor had to be made, Magneto thinks wryly, Charles had let him wallow in that arrogance and then drowned him in it.

There is still that damnable part of him that wants the man's company—his advice—his friendship, just as much as when he first tried to forcibly keep Charles by his side. But he has forfeited all that; mortal battle lines have now been drawn, and there will be no return to happier times.

Still, such irony, that although their goals take such different routes, their paths will inevitably intersect.

Charles opens his eyes. He is in his bedroom and it is dark. But in his mind he is still in a blindingly white prison.


	5. warning! - noncon alternate scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NONCON AU scene - what could have happened if Charles hadn't been able to escape ...

WARNING WARNING WARNING

This is an alternate scene to what has happened in Absolution so far, if Charles had not succeeded in escaping. This really has nothing to do with anything except for my awful imagination. It's non-con slash, so be warned. Hopefully not too graphic. Only I (aeskis) am guilty of this horrific crime against plot continuity and good friendship fics. OOC, seriously.

/

When Erik enters the sterile room, he can immediately see that Charles is missing. Shock rushes through him, and he barely senses the metal tray hurtling toward him in time. Instinctively he flings the attacker back even before turning, and he hears the soft thud of a body hitting the far wall and the clatter of metal onto the floor. Erik's eyes widen in disbelief. Charles is stumbling to his feet, shakily and holding onto the sink for support, but he is standing.

Fury courses through him, and he stalks toward Charles, his fingers curling and the metal of the tray rising in the air to seize Charles' wrists and bind them above his head to the metal towel rack.

"Well." The smooth menace in his voice is unmistakable. "This is an unexpected development. It was very dishonest of you to keep the truth from me. Did you really think your plan would work? When this entire room is metal and under my power?"

Charles grimaces at the too-tight grip of the handcuffs and shuts his eyes as Erik closes in on him. "I had to try." He tries to sound casual, even cool, but his fear is palpable in the small space between them.

From the loose fall of the plain cotton pajamas against his body, Erik can see clearly how thin Charles has become, when a few months ago he had already been slim. His face is white and strained, testament to how much his little effort had cost him, and he slumps forward, legs unable to hold him up. Charles keeps his eyes resolutely closed, until Erik slams a hand onto the wall, startling him.

"What do you think I should do to you?" he asks, almost conversationally.

"Let me go?" Charles suggests in a desperate attempt at humor. Erik's mouth curls. Even now Charles refuses to believe that Erik is serious, that he can persuade Erik to give up his plans. It's too late for any kind of reconciliation on his side; that's only possible if Charles gives in, and as his stunt revealed, Charles is far from convinced.

So close, Erik can smell the cheap soap on Charles' skin, the dampness of his slightly wet hair, look into the whites of his wide eyes, still so brightly blue, and the uncertain trembling of his mouth. And unexpectedly, terribly, Erik begins to get hard.

Even without his telepathy, Charles sees the sudden change in Erik's expression, though he does not understand it. Clearly he thinks violence is on Erik's mind because his face tightens in preparation for a blow. But he's wrong. Partly, at least. Erik does want to hurt Charles, to rip out his indomitable spirit and beautiful, naïve mind until he can finally feel absolved of what he is doing. He wants more. Cautiously, Erik lowers his head until he is nearly on level with Charles's forehead and trails a callused hand over his throat, past the opening of the shirt, and onto his heaving chest.

"Erik?" Charles questions falteringly, uncomprehending. "If you're going to hit me, get it over with."

Smiling darkly, Erik traces his fingers over Charles' full mouth, the soft skin of his boyish face. Charles stares at him in shock. Without warning, Erik lets the metal cuffs fall from the towel rack, though still clasped around thin wrists. Immediately Charles collapses, and only Erik's hold on his arms keeps him from falling to the floor. Grasping Charles' chin, Erik then lifts Charles' dismayed face to his, testing what begins as a brief press of lips together. It's only a taste, but Charles tries to squirm away and fails, too weak to put up an adequate fight. Nevertheless, he shoves futilely at Erik's chest, his hands beating a hopeless tempo.

"Erik—I don't understand—" he gasps after the second kiss, more demanding this time, with Erik deliberately holding Charles' jaw firmly to ensure he is not bitten when he slips a tongue into Charles' mouth. "I'm not—I don't—"

"You will." He tastes faintly of mint toothpaste, Erik notes in appreciation, clean and warmly wet within. Absolutely focused on his crusade for vengeance, heretofore Erik's sexual meetings had been used as necessary release. Whatever had been available was acceptable, men and women alike, although he had preferred the latter until now, their pliancy and softness under his greater strength.

"You're so helpless without your powers," Erik murmurs. "It's really quite remarkable. So very … human." He releases his hold on Charles' arms, and the latter at once crumples to the ground. Erik follows him, kneeling down and forcibly turning him over until Charles's back is pressed flush to his chest, one hand gripping his throat and the other on his hip.

Charles' voice rises in blind panic and he demands again, "What are you doing? Let me go! Erik!"

Erik muffles his voice against the back of his prisoner's neck, breathing him in. "You don't understand. I can't." And he's telling the truth. The feeling of Charles struggling helplessly against him, his ass unconsciously rubbing against Erik's awakening erection, is sending electric thrills through his body. He's wanted this for so long, Erik realizes. For all his kindness and generosity, Charles always carries with him an air of superiority, as though he knows all that comprises a person. It's an exhilarating relief to prove him wrong, as Erik had on the beach. To hold power over him. The adrenaline of keeping the missiles at bay and then having the power to send them toward the ships, the heady experience of physically overpowering the weaker Charles, the ability to hurt him, even as his conscience screams in strident protest, had been as powerful as sexual arousal.

Charles is his first friend, the true companion of his ambitions and desires, his only equal. But at the same time the predator in Erik, created by Shaw, wants to crush him, relegate him to nothing more than something to be used, as everyone has been in his life. He cannot bear to have another person be as precious to him as his mother, and though Charles has come to occupy a similar place in his heart he refuses to acknowledge the fact.

One hand still on Charles' throat in order to feel the rapid beat at the base, Erik draws his finger along the loose hemline of Charles' ridiculously innocuous pajama bottoms and abruptly pulls it down so that the telepath is naked from the waist down. Then he begins to rock, forward, back, and forward again, with increasingly fiercer snaps of his hips. He's throbbing, heat thrumming along in furious currents.

"Erik, please! Please … please … don't do this …" Charles' arms shake merely from the effort to keep him from slumping onto the floor. "If you hate me so much, kill me, hurt me, don't—don't—"

"You should say what you're thinking. You might feel better about this." Erik takes his hand off

Charles' throat to reach around and grasp Charles' soft, shrinking flesh and begins to stroke roughly. Charles lets out a choked cry as his body betrays him and starts to respond. Lip curling in satisfaction, Erik spreads Charles' kneeling legs further apart for better access. "Oh God, oh God," Charles moans as he spills into Erik's hand.

"I doubt he can hear you." He had certainly ignored Erik's pleas for divine intervention as Shaw had tortured him and killed his mother. Gritting his teeth as memories of Shaw grinning above him holding a metal scalpel fill his mind, Erik gets up and leaves Charles collapsed on the floor, unable to manage more than a feeble movement of his traitorous limbs, and returns with a bottle of shampoo. "I hope this will be sufficient to prepare you. I hadn't thought to bring another sort of lubricant. Lack of foresight, you see."

"Erik, I know you aren't Shaw, that you're in pain. I understand. But you can't do this," Charles tries to reason calmly, voice quivering with agitation. Erik freezes, momentarily wondering if Charles has somehow read his mind. The thought passes, however, and he lifts Charles' hips off the floor with one hand and spreading him open, proceeds to lather his opening with the slippery substance of shampoo. When he inserts a finger, Charles shudders and begs him to stop. After a few minutes of this, he eases his erection out of his pants and positions himself.

"No. No. No." Charles groans, body spasming as Erik enters silently and resumes his harsh handling of Charles' groin. Even so soon afterward his release, Charles grows hard again, to Erik's cold amusement. Charles will never again tell Erik that he knows everything there is to know about him. Thrusting into Charles' tight heat, Erik continues the fucking for several unbearable minutes.

In the aftermath Charles lies motionless, but he whispers, "I'll never forgive you. Never. I swear to you."

Erik smiles hotly and reaches for him again. Charles flinches away when Erik grasps his arm and forces him onto his back. "Aren't you finished humiliating me?" he hisses through gritted teeth.

First task done, Erik proceeds to methodically tear at Charles' shirt until the other man is lying beneath him completely exposed, ragged edges of his pajamas trailing incongruously on the floor and wound around his ankles.

Charles, Charles. Still misunderstanding, even now. "Not yet," Erik tells him, the calmness in his voice at odds with the heat burning inside him.

He fists one hand in Charles' tousled hair, pulling his head back until Erik can trace his tongue over Charles' tightly compressed lips and down over his arched throat, where he bites down hard. The other hand travels leisurely down to fondle dark rosy nipples until Charles lets out a miserable moan, hips twisting unwillingly.

Charles has the ability to compel people to do as he wants, and even more, make them think they want it. Now Erik has this intoxicating power over him. He realizes now what he has to do in order to break Charles to his will, when all other ways have failed.

"Why—why are you—doing this to me?" Charles demands in a stuttered, broken sob.

Erik shrugs, making a point of keeping his face blank. "I shouldn't have to answer that. You're supposed to know everything about me." Simply from hearing and touching Charles, he is unbearably hard again, but he plans to proceed more slowly this time, to ensure that Charles knows exactly what is happening and who is doing it to him.

"Did you dream of doing this with Moira?" Erik asks casually. He will erase any thought of the kind from Charles' mind, of course. "Don't lie."

Charles glares at him furiously, trying hopelessly to raise himself on his elbows but falling back. "It's none of your business."

"So you did think about it."

Charles starts to shake uncontrollably when Erik moves to place himself between Charles' legs, hands on the pale thighs to spread them open. "Did it end this way?"

"I would never force her to—" Charles gulps in great breaths of air as he tries not hyperventilate.

"No fantasies about it? Really? She's a strong woman. If you didn't charm her with your terrible pick-up lines, she might fight you. But you could take care of that, with a thought, literally."

"No!" Charles cries out as Erik penetrates him. The fucking this time is slow and deliberate and Erik takes more care, but it is still strong enough to hurt, especially after so recent a session. His back curves up, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the floor. Head lolling in denial, eyes staring blindly at the white ceiling, Charles' crumpled, naked body is more an aphrodisiac than anything Erik has ever tried. With a smile showing too many teeth, Erik takes Charles in hand and fists him in time to the simmering pace of his thrusts.

Charles writhes under the harsh ministrations. "I can't—stop, stop—!"

"I won't stop until I hear from your mouth that you want me to fuck you," Erik tells him coolly, though keeping his urge to pound into Charles is becoming overwhelming. "Until then, well …"

/

And somehow I tie this in with Shaw's psychological torture and mental twisting of Erik, and the latter's distorted need to be in control. Well, I tried to.


	6. aftermath charles and erik p2

“I hear you and Mystique had something of an altercation,” Erik said drily as he walked slowly into the kitchen, careful to steady himself on various reliable surfaces. Charles was already present at the breakfast table, sipping his much satirized tea. He showed no surprise at Erik’s arrival or his comment, which led Erik to wonder if Charles was even then reading his mind.

“I think you’ve surrendered the right to keep your thoughts to yourself, don’t you? Who knows what dastardly plan you’re scheming of next?” Charles said serenely in response to his unspoken question.

“You’re gotten past the physical signs of your telepathy,” Erik observed, deliberately ignoring Charles’ comment and gesturing with two fingers to his temple. He hobbled over to the coffee maker to make a cup, only to find one already steaming on the counter. His back to Charles, Erik scowled, but made his way to the table and sat down with cup in hand. He took a sip. The taste was exactly the way he liked it.

“We must all move forward,” the telepath told him, as much a figure of apparent tranquility as the Buddha himself.

“What direction does your ‘forward’ take?” Erik inquired. He had to be cautious in dealing with Charles, the man whose friendship he had taken, crushed as trash, and thrown back in his face.

Charles looked at him over the lip of his tea cup, blue eyes wreathed in whitish steam. “Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?” He paused a moment, and then added, “I’ve never hidden my intentions.” The silent reprimand hung between them, thickening the air.

Erik nodded, accepting the quiet accusation as his due. “I suppose, then, the more important question at the moment, is where I fit in this future.”

“You don’t!” Alex’s angry voice said loudly from the doorway. Still in shorts and a wife’s beater, rumpled by sleep, the young man stalked forward, nostrils flaring, until he stood between Charles and Erik.

“No warning, Charles?” Erik sighed. 

Charles shrugged at Erik’s plaintive attitude. “Alex, I appreciate your concern. Please be mindful of those still asleep.”

Alex continued glaring at Erik, but did lower his volume when he hissed, “You and your Hellfire buddies should go terrorize someone else’s house.”

“I am temporarily indisposed,” Erik informed Alex patiently as though to an uncomprehending child. “Charles has been kind enough to offer me sanctuary until my condition improves.”

“The professor was ‘temporarily indisposed’ by the loss of his legs, and you put him in a metal cage! What makes you think you deserve any kind of kindness from him?” A red aura of heat glowed warningly around Alex.

Charles patted the young man’s arm and told him softly, “Alex, please.”

Alex’s jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly. “Alright. One last thing, Magneto. You just keep up your asshole habit of abandoning or hurting people when you don’t need them anymore. One day you’ll find yourself completely alone, old and used up and needing help, and there won’t be a single friend to care.” He took a deep breath, uncurled his hands, and walked out of the room, back rigid with unspent fury.

Erik and Charles sat in silence for a few minutes after that passionate tirade. “I don’t know how to—” Erik started to say.

“You can’t,” Charles said flatly. He changed the subject, and in a gentler tone asked, “How was your night?”

“Better,” Erik replied, grateful but unsure of how to express his gratitude. Thank you seemed too trivial. “Now that you’re actively monitoring the dream visions, I rest more easily.”

“Good,” Charles nodded.

Erik hesitated. “When do you expect I can leave?”

Charles smiles, very slightly, and does not answer; instead, he leaves the room, leaving Erik chilled and wondering how the tables have turned so completely.

////

After he recovers somewhat from his shock, Erik tries to follow, only to find himself outflanked once again. We’ll continue our conversation later, Charles informs him. I’m occupied at the moment. 

So he was going to have to play the waiting game. Erik 

Mystique enters his room, unbearably bored with having nothing to do now that Erik was improving. The inhabitants of the mansion have made it frigidly apparent to her that they do not need anything from her when, desperate for diversion, had volunteered to assist them in some kind of mission. The X-men recoil at her suggestions and keep her at even more of a distance. 

“Being involved in espionage,” Hank informs her, “might be your job as Magneto’s woman, but here we work to better an integrated society, not spy on it. “

Sean adds his opinion. “Next you’ll want a police state. No? Labor camps. Or is it the total annihilation of humans? I forget.”

Humiliated and deeply injured, Mystique retreats to Magneto’s room, where she proceeds to air her grievances, about which Erik can do nothing.

 

//////

Merely to feel he had some control of the situation, Erik pulls a chair over to him with his power of magnetism. Then he says through gritted teeth. “I admit my surprise on the surprisingly flexible nature of your morality. You have no qualms on invading personal space, do you?”

Charles smiles, perfectly calm. “As I’ve mentioned to Mystique, my ability is a natural extension of myself. I don’t see what I do as unfair if we’re speaking as mutants, not humans--not any more than that useful display you just performed with the chair. Isn’t that what you would teach your disciples? Funny how a fraternity can have unequal membership of pawns, assets, and key players. Yes, I know about the activities of your terrorist group, the Brotherhood. Very attractive name, by the way. Simple yet effective. Much better than X-men; I’m afraid we merely sound like the afterthought of a pornography film.”

“This is not a game!’

“Of course it is,” Charles contradicts. “Chess, to be more precise.” 

Erik gets to his feet so quickly becomes dizzy, and he wavers. Looking concerned, Charles rises to guide his once friend back to a sitting position before returning to his own seat.

When he regains his bearings, embarrassed by his weakness, Erik explodes. “What do you call your brainwashed little fledglings?”

Charles’ penetrating gaze becomes even more intense. “Friends. Loyal allies who will not desert each other.”

Erik’s hands curl on the arms of his chair. “So if they follow you, mutants are companions. If they belong to the Brotherhood, well, they are derided as minions. I could name you something unflattering myself—hypocrite.”

Charles raises his brows mockingly. “Tell me, then. Where is Frost? Azazeal and Riptide? In your moment of need, they have parted ways to seek more lucrative opportunities elsewhere.” He continues, “You lured them to you by a show of power. Admittedly, an admirable show, but you gained only a hollow victory.”

Knowing this to be true, Erik counters, “You insist of keeping me here! And … Mystique stays with me.”

Charles ignores his first comment. “Ah, Mystique? I congratulate you on creating a soldier fanatical in your cause. She follows an illusion … one might even say, a lie.”

 

Deeply buried guilt stings him at his own duplicity. If Mystique knew the entire truth … would she remain firm on his side? Or would she abandon him like all the others? Shoving the doubt down deeper, Erik says flatly, “I’m leaving.”

 

The phone rings. Charles shrugs and reaches for it. “Hello? Yes, this is Charles Xavier. My application for opening the Xavier Institute was approved? This is wonderful news! I can hardly express …”

 

Erik stiffly walks to the door. Before he fully exits the room, however, Charles has the last word, as he always seems to do, lately.

 

I invite you to try.

/////

Upon reaching his room he finds that the helmet is already on his desk, courtesy of Mystique, who tells him sullenly that Charles had informed her that Magneto would be wanting it—as though Mystique were Magneto’s maid rather than his first lieutenant. Petty, Charles, Erik thinks.

Wary of tricks yet undeniably eager to be free, Erik reaches for the helmet. He almost expects an explosion, a violent reaction of some sort. Instead, his fingers slide off as though there is a thin layer of something that feels like … nothing, around the dark red metal. 

Increasingly uneasy, Erik’s automatic reaction is to call the helmet using his powers. Again, nothing, an empty space. The other metallic objects in the room respond as usual, but the helmet merely sits on the desk, glimmering still and quiet in the firelight. 

Mystique stares at him in wide-eyed shock. “Erik, why aren’t—oh my God, you’re trying, but you can’t!”

Interesting, isn’t it? The mind has so many wonderful possibilities … so many potential traps. He can see Charles in his room reclining against his bedframe reading a book, still casually turning the pages as he destroys every source of control Erik has in his life. 

A laugh resounds in his head. You’ve taught me a lesson in trust, and I have learned it well—in the future I will keep my enemies closer than friends, as the saying goes. 

What have you done!?

Recall that the helmet tunes out telepathic interference. I really can’t take a chance with you again. Therefore, I’ve implemented a mental block in your mind specific to that particular metal. 

That’s not—

\--humanly possible? Of course not. Isn’t this the kind of power that make us “the better men?” And—oh, tell Mystique I wouldn’t bother.

Mystique extends her arms to snatch the helmet. She can touch it, and Erik feels a spark of vindication, but---she can’t pull it off the table. Or sideways, or move it even the tiniest bit from its starting position. 

"If your X-men knew your methods--" Mystique begins in a rage.

Well, we all have our secrets. Don't we, Erik?

While confined, Charles had lured Erik into complacency and subsequently taken advantage of a serious lapse in judgment. But the situation is different now. Charles will be on his guard, and moreover, is aware of any plan before it is even fully formulated. 

It is then that Erik realizes he will not be able to escape this prison without his jailer giving him the key.

////

 

Dinner the next day, as it has been since Erik and Mystique’s arrival, is tense and a quiet affair. The young people in the mansion generally don’t wake up for breakfast, meander off on their own for lunch, and everyone only congregates for the last meal. 

 

Apparently unaffected by the sullen, unforgiving silence, Charles chats amiably, asking the boys about their day out loud, but responding in such a way as to make clear he is also speaking to them telepathically. 

 

Finally Mystique can stand the situation no longer and drops her utensils with a clatter. “How are you doing that?” she demands, slashing through the conversation.

 

Charles pauses in the middle of cutting his salmon into tiny pieces. “With a knife,” he replies mildly. 

 

Although they realize the timing of Charles’ powers increasing exponentially, coinciding with his captivity and subsequently his escape, Alex and Sean say nothing, allowing the professor to explain himself. Hank has a theory on how exactly Charles has grown so powerful, but it is a dark conclusion and something he for once is afraid to explore. 

 

“You used to get headaches if you used your abilities too much. Now you’re showing them off all over the place!” Mystique says hotly.

 

Charles forks the salmon and brings it to his lips, chewing slowly before he says, “People change.”

 

She flushes, the red standing out oddly against her blue skin. “That’s not an answer.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Charles asks nonchalantly, his calm thinly concealing a stronger emotion. 

 

“Mystique,” Erik warns, placing a hand on her scaled arm. “We can talk privately about this.”

She rises, glaring around the table. “Havok, Banshee, Beast, you should know that—”

Sean’s lips curl in scorn. “My name is Sean at home. I’m not defined by what I can do.”

Hank stares back, his expression difficult to decipher beneath the fur on his face. “I suppose that’s what you see me as.” 

“I don’t just cause trouble, sweetheart,” Alex tells her in aggravation, words slightly garbled by the food in his mouth.

“Will you let me finish!” Mystique shouts. “Don’t you get why Magneto and I are still here? Believe me, we’d like to leave as much as you want us out! But your Professor is keeping us here!”

They are taken aback. Hank is the first to recover and ask, “What do you mean?”

Mystique snarls, “He won’t let us just walk out. He’s using his newfound powers to trap us.”

Alex blinks several times and turns to Charles. “Professor?”

Perfectly tranquil, Charles reaches for his drink. “On the contrary. Mystique and Magneto are welcome to exit the premises at any time.”

Sean asks tentatively, “Then what is she talking about?”

Charles takes a sip. “Mystique refers to the fact that neither of them will be able to take the helmet with them, should they choose to depart.”

At this, Alex shrugs. “Makes sense.”

Sean nods in agreement. 

Hank looks somewhat troubled, but does not verbally comment for the moment. Charles looks at him and inclines his head. “Of course, Hank.”

“Are you all insane!” Mystique is livid. When no one answers, she storms from the room. 

His face set in stone, Erik merely sits in absolute silence.

Smiling wryly, Charles gets up and begins to clear his plate off the table and begins to say, “Good night, everyone—” when he abruptly stops and his eyes widen. He whirls and hurriedly utters in a shocked voice, “Hank, Cerebro! Hurry!” 

////

· I realize that Sean, Alex, and Hank actually accept their mutant designations, but for the purposes of this story I went with this interpretation.


	7. aftermath charles and erik p1

In the eyes of all his followers, Magneto is changed from the confident, competent leader of before. Instead, he has become a man wrecked by broken dreams, gnawed by a secret pain he cannot share with anyone. And the one person he could have told is the reason for his present turmoil. Emma tells Magneto flatly that if he doesn't pull himself together, she will leave. Riptide and Azazeal have begun to drift and spend more and more time away from their hideout. Mystique hovers worriedly, but her efforts only make Magneto withdraw further into himself, fear of letting her know the truth filling him with dread.

"Please. Tell me, what did Charles do to you?" Mystique asks softly, sympathy writ clear on her expressive face and piercing yellow eyes.

"I ... I'm not sure," Erik manages to say, his hands shaking slightly under the blankets as they rest in his lap. In his enforced bed rest after the mental trauma, his body has grown weak, and, so very ironically, he is temporarily bound to a wheelchair. Currently he and Mystique are overlooking the ocean on balcony, the brisk, salty sea breeze refreshing on their faces.

Erik. Magneto. Whatever. When you've finished your little vacation up there, I have an ultimatum for you.

Erik musters the strength to reply coldly, Which is?

See Xavier.

Erik starts and a numbness settles in his limbs. Mystique notices. "It's getting cold. Do you want to go inside?"

I've already spoken to Azazeal and Riptide; you're welcome. Her tone turns patronizing. Don't worry, we'll all hold your hand.

Erik remembers to breathe and whispers, "Alright." Mystique wheels him toward the door.

////

Charles is forcing himself through physical rehabilitation when his telepathy recognizes the hallmarks of Hellfire. And Erik.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Charles gives out a mental call to his friends, waking them to potential danger, and prepares for the upcoming confrontation himself. Despite his fatigue he puts forth the effort to make himself presentable—a cool, collected appearance will be a shield. Taking his cane, Charles walks into the foyer and sees Erik for the first time since their parting an eternity ago. The man looks terrible, shoulders slightly hunched and features pinched. But beyond that, his mind is in a worse state.

They stand the length of the room apart, but the distance makes no difference. They were as close, and as far, when hundreds of miles away.

Erik has committed an inexcusable act against Charles; Charles has done the unforgivable to Erik. And, though knowing the pace of each other's breathing, one cannot look into the eyes of the other without flinching back and something breaking within.

"I don't recall inviting guests," Charles says dryly, gripping the varnished wood of the doorway for support.

"Tell us what you did to Magneto, and we'll leave," Mystique responds, voice devoid of warmth.

Immediate disbelief at this unfriendly greeting shows, then just as quickly smoothes over as Charles lowers his lashes and exhales a sigh. "Oh, Raven," he says softly.

"I don't answer to my slave name," Mystique snaps. (yes, that's a line from XMLS). "I'm not your pet anymore."

"Mystique," Charles says after a strained moment. "Emma Frost. Riptide. Azazeal. Magneto. Take your cohorts and leave."

Moira, Hank, Alex and Sean enter the room from another door, filing in as though soldiers ready for battle. "You're not welcome," Alex snarls. "Get out before we kick your asses out."

Emma smiles cynically. "Unless you plan to blowing this lovely mansion to bits, you're not in a position to make demands, sugar."

"I am," Charles says coldly. "And I don't have to." Azazeal suddenly whips his tail to Emma's throat. She gasps and terror fills her face as she can do nothing. "What have you done?" Mystique and Riptide look on, petrified.

"You could say I've found out some interesting things about myself." Charles inclines his head, and Riptide for an unseen reason creates a small whirlwind almost comically ushering Emma, Azazeal and Mystique out the door. "Go. Magneto and I have things to discuss. You too." He looks at Moira, Alex, and Sean.

Erik finally raises his head. "Charles—"

Charles smiles, the expression chilling. "Onslaught, please."

"My God." Moira finds her voice. "What have you done with Charles?"

"He's around ... somewhere in here." The creature waves a hand airily near his temple. "But he really can't take this kind of stress, poor man."

Erik straightens in his chair. "Charles. I'm sorry."

"Rather late apologies, I'm afraid. Charles Xavier is cooped up in his little mental cocoon as of this moment. And ... what is this? There's an odd connection between you and him." Onslaught frowns. "I suppose I can't kill you at present. That might destroy him, and thus, me. But don't fret," he murmurs. "I'll find a way to break free."

He looks at Moira. "Human. I really ought to get rid of you. But ..." he sighs. "Xavier's sentimentality. What a bother."

Sean blanches. "What's wrong with you? Why are you-?"

"Oh, I haven't told you. I perfectly agree with Magneto. In fact, I've begun to think he and I might work together."

"To do what?" Alex demands.

"Why, take over the world, of course." Onslaught smiles again. "But unlike certain lab mice, I'm confident we'll succeed." He turns to Erik. "You should know he still thinks of you. Sad, really. He even regrets enslaving you to his mind. But I believe I'll find some use for you." He turns to Moira. "Human. Get out before I kill you. I'll do it eventually, but not now. Alex and Sean ... ah, young mutants. You will go to your rooms for now."

Hank bristles. "As if I'll—"

"You will do it." All four stiffen and vanish out the door.

"Now, I believe we're finally alone, Magneto." Onslaught limps toward him, smiling, when suddenly he shudders and collapses. Erik stares as Charles raises his overly bright eyes to him. 

"God. Help me," he whispers.

////

"I don't know how to undo … whatever I did," Charles snaps irritably. Apparently a silent, non-accusing Erik annoys him. They are sitting; well, Erik is sitting in his wheelchair, and Charles is pacing, or limping, erratically across the living room.

Erik raises a brow and glances at the gleaming red helmet resting conspicuously above the fireplace. "A new mantle piece?" he suggests pleasantly.

"Matches the rest of the décor," Charles returns.

Hank tentatively pokes his furry blue head through the door. "Um, Professor? Is everything okay now?"

"Oh, Hank. I'm terribly sorry for what just happened." He sighs and covers his face with a hand.

Sean interjects his own face beside Hank's. "What did just happen?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself," Charles admits.

"And when's the bastard leaving?" Alex adds bluntly, materializing beside Sean.

"I ought to apologize to Moira immediately," Charles sidesteps. "Where-?"

Hank grimaces. "She walked off like the rest of us, but continued zombie-walking to her car and drove off."

"Good God!" Charles exclaims, horrified. He makes a quick mental check. "She's fine. She just realized she's driving back home. And … the others have returned to their hideout."

Sean whistles. "Whoa, Prof. Didn't know you could mess with people that much."

"Neither did I," Charles mutters. "Boys, please ignore everything I said five minutes ago. I wasn't quite … myself." He adds, "And I need to talk with the bast—Erik for a while."

Obediently, Hank takes the lead in herding a glowering Alex and an obviously curious Sean out of the room.

An exhausted Erik has been dozing fitfully during this exchange. As a tense silence fills the room, he rouses and raises an emaciated face to Charles. "I can't ask you to forgive me," he says finally.

"Good, because I won't," Charles replies immediately. "Now, you're here because you need me. And I'll tell you, I don't know what to do about your condition."

"It's clearly not affecting you as much as me," Erik points out tiredly.

"No." Charles frowns thoughtfully, then smiles without mirth. "I'm the dominant in this relationship, at least in this regard. For what it's worth," he shuts his eyes. "I shouldn't have done it to anyone, no matter the cause. You'll kindly note I wasn't exactly in my right mind at the time," he continues dryly.

"I did something inhumanly terrible to you." Erik can't meet Charles' gaze and clenches his hands on the arms of the wheelchair. "I don't expect your help, especially as we're at cross purposes."

"Well, it would be convenient not to have you destroy the mutant-human relationships I'm trying rather hard to foster," Charles returns wryly. "That would be a good start."

Erik says hesitantly, "I could try things your way. At least at first. I can help. I'll prove my sincerity to you. And maybe one day … you'll forgive me."

Charles looks at him, and at last a small smile tugs at his mouth. "We'll see."

We. Despite himself, Erik can't help the frisson of hope the little word inspires.

////

“… and that is why I wish to establish a school for Gifted Youngsters,” Charles finished, smiling pleasantly as he turned back to the murmuring members of the New York Department of Education Committee.

“Dr. Xavier,” a severe-looking man, oddly reminiscent of CIA Director McCone—did all these bigoted men look alike?—Charles thought whimsically, before he sternly reprimanded himself for his irritation. He already knew the words that would leave the man’s mouth before they were spoken, and that the man’s bias were carefully concealed behind polite condescension. 

“We appreciate your genuine enthusiasm. We do. But we remain rather unconvinced of the need for a private school for talented young people when so many already exist. Your presentation, while compelling, ultimately does not prove the uniqueness of your idea.”

Of course it hadn’t. The man, Peter Thornton, hadn’t heard past “Thank you for your time, gentleman,” twenty minutes ago. He’d been thinking of his pretty young mistress and her astounding skills in bed, blandly speaking, and how he’d afford the latest diamond bauble she’d been begging for recently. Thornton was wondering what she’d be willing to do for the gift. The accompanying graphic images had been somewhat distracting, in fact.

Charles’s smile remained agreeable even as the committee members began to shuffle papers in preparation to depart. “Could you please specify what, exactly, was not satisfactory?” The question froze almost everyone, and some even harbored slightly guilty expressions.

Suddenly Charles was struck with the almost unbearable urge to use his powers. His mind itched to compel these small little pygmies to what he, a god among insects, wanted. He had to forcibly control himself, gripping his cane hard even as he continued to smile. These were not his thoughts, and neither was the earlier mental scoffing. Onslaught was thinking for him. 

Fortunately, another man, Ian Rutherfield, had indeed been paying attention. Carefully. Calculatedly. “You mentioned that those children admitted as students will have special talents. In what areas? Will they have to pass a rigorous exam? Will their prior grades determine the standard? Both?”

“An exam, Mr. Rutherfield,” Charles answered, breathing more easily. This man was sharp and would require caution. But he could also be fair. “And interviews.”

“Submit a copy of the planned curriculum, the state teaching credentials of the instructors, and the projection of financial operations for the next five years. A further exhaustive list will be provided. You will need to supply these papers in a timely manner.” 

“Certainly,” Charles responded calmly to the barrage of necessary information. “Please allow me to extend my sincere thanks for this opportunity.”

Rutherfield looked at him coolly. “You can thank me if your Institute demonstrates itself to be a viable investment.”

/////

“I could have told you what to expect,” Mystique said in annoyance as she reclined restlessly on an armchair in the study. At the moment Erik needed daily assistance, and Mystique had instantly volunteered to be the caretaker for her hero. “Of course they’d find every reason to deny your request.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust you or your opinion,” Charles said coolly, focusing his attention on the stack of papers on his desk. 

Mystique’s yellow eyes snapped like that of an angry tiger. “Do you really think your way of doing things will work? It won’t. Humans will never accept mutants.” 

Charles continued to scan the documents and did not look up. “You’ve made it quite clear you don’t consider this house your home. Your input is neither appreciated nor necessary to the well-being of its inhabitants.” 

Outside the mansion, the happy cries of Ororo and Jean as they played a game supervised by Alex could be heard. Scott hung shyly back at first, but he was soon enticed to join in by Jean—his boyish crush on the pretty young redhead made him terribly susceptible to doing whatever she wanted.

“Also, as long as you remain a guest, I must insist that you don some clothes when sitting on furniture, and also in front of the children.”

Mystique leapt to her feet and glared at Charles’ bent head. “I’m never going back to that kind of mental entrapment. All my life you’ve tried to tame me, but I’m stronger than that.”

The telepath sighed and finally put down his pen to look at her. “Your insistence on exposing yourself to the world, though certainly laudable in regards to newfound standards of decency, is inappropriate.”

“You’ve always wanted me to hide who I am!” Mystique seethed, fists clenched and blue skin flickering as usual when she could not control her powers due to extreme emotion.

“Who you are? It’s the what, your mutant appearance, that could have given you away and endangered you. You say you can now go about freely. Strangely, however, you restrain yourself remarkably well when outside the safety of this mansion.” He shrugged. “Be careful. You may find that your champion Magneto is more interested in what you can do for him than supporting who you have determined to be.”

Mystique strode to the desk and, clamping her hands on the edge, leaned forward in confrontation. “Magneto is different from you. He doesn’t try to crush me under his thumb!” 

Charles merely leaned back in his chair and gazed at her without expression. “You may have forgotten, but I too am a mutant. And yet, when I exercise my natural powers, you claim I have invaded your privacy. I must confess my surprise at the injustice of the world which you strive to create—and you have wondered why I wish not to be a part of it.”

Mystique snarled, breathing hard. But she had no retort, at least for the moment, and after a minute of glowering, turned away and stalked out of the room.


	8. jason stryker p1

I don’t actually know how to write Darwin’s return at the moment. Just take it for granted that he’s back for now.

“This is my son, Jason,” the man, William Stryker, says stiffly. He is a corporal, holds himself with strict uprightness, and, Charles thinks, absolute unyielding uptightness. Since his miraculous return, Darwin has been of great help to Charles in presenting a kindly front to prospective students and their wary parents. Unfortunately, all too frequently, racial prejudice counts against the young black man, and in those cases Charles reluctantly asks Darwin to withdraw his assistance. This is one of them. Moreover, Stryker hates all minority groups, anyone different from the white supremacist, human norm. 

Charles tries to smile affably as he greets the sullen boy, Jason and his father. Stryker says peremptorily, “Jason is a very difficult child. I suspect it’s more than the usual teenage rebellion. He’s one of those freaks that are growing in alarming number—mutants is the term. Somehow he can create illusions, and he uses these parlor tricks to harass others, including myself and my wife.” 

Charles murmurs something vaguely placating. 

Stryker continues, “I expect that with the respectable reputation this school has built for itself, you can cure him of his … peculiarities?”

Charles takes a moment to formulate a somewhat acceptable answer to this incredibly offensive question. He answers firmly, “Mr. Stryker, this educational institution strives to guide gifted youths into becoming responsible members of society.” He knows this response will not please Stryker for long, but Charles does genuinely want to help this troubled boy, and in order to do that, he must get him enrolled. 

After a few more terse exchanges, Stryker nods and signs the papers as Jason silently watches, his expression giving away nothing. However, Charles can hear his gleeful thoughts on getting away from his parents. 

I’ll play the good little student for a while if I have to. Then …

After Stryker leaves, and they sit in silence for a time, Jason looks up suddenly and sees Charles looking at him intently. His reaction is a sickly smile. 

Now, Jason, we’ll have to chat a bit.

The boy jerks, staring around the room until his eyes settle on Charles gazing at him with a kind smile. Frightened, he lashes out with his own mutant abilities, his fear allowing only childishly instinctive illusions. The walls begin to crawl with clawed shadows, congregating on Charles, who remains still, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“How did you do that?” Jason demands. When Charles does not answer, only cocks his head, Jason curls his hands into fists. The shadow monsters exude menace, ready to attack. “You’d better tell me!”

Jason. Calm yourself. Your father just agreed to enroll you at this institute. Before we begin your instruction, you should be aware of exactly what that education entails.

“What the fuck do you mean?!”

Charles frowns and changes tactics. “No obscenities, for one. Second, as you know, you have special abilities. All the students here, indeed, the teachers as well, share the term ‘mutant.’” 

Confused and still wary, Jason lowers his fists and the monsters recede somewhat. “What are you saying?”

“At this school you will have an opportunity to learn to cope with these abilities, improve them, and use them more effectively. That is, in addition to regular academic classes.” Charles waits for Jason’s spoken answer, though it would be obvious even without his telepathy.

Jason grins slyly. “You serious?”

Charles realizes that Jason’s interpretation of what he is saying is not in accordance with the meaning of his actual words, but he hopes that the boy will change with time, attention, and care.

“I am very serious,” Charles tells him. “There is a condition: you are not to share what was said in this room with anyone outside of the school, including your parents.”

Jason shrugs. “Duh. Can I see my room now?” he suggests, wanting to get away from Charles’ penetrating eyes.

Charles nods. “Yes. And remember, because there will be consequences otherwise.”

////

Jason quickly tires of the academic aspects of learning. “Why are we learning this, Professor McCoy?” he wants to know, inserting just enough respect to offset his obvious annoyance. After shrieking in a most undignified manner at the first sight of Hank, who honestly may have been the more frightened of the two, Jason had soon learned to step all over the mild-mannered blue-furred mutant.

The bespectacled scientist adjust his glasses out of nervous habit. “Physics? Well, it’s an important science, concerning matter and energy and their interactions.” He looks around the room. “Does anyone else have thoughts?”

13-year-old Jean raises her hand. Hank nods at her. “Without physics, people wouldn’t be able to understand the behavior of the universe,” she says primly. A few seats over, Kitty giggles. 

“Teacher’s pet,” Rogue mutters in the back, sticking out her tongue when Jean shoots her a nasty look. 

Jason sighs impatiently. “But when are we getting to the good stuff?”

Almost everyone turns to look at him with a questioning expression; one of the less motivated students, Gambit, snickers quietly in agreement. Hank is taken aback. He can’t fathom how science can’t be important. 

“Getting more powerful,” Jason enunciates slowly, as though to idiot children.

Hank blinks. “Well, that sort of learning belongs in the class of Professor Lensherr and his assistant, Ms. Darkholme.” After some weeks of suspicious silence from both parties, Erik had offered his expertise and assistance in teaching lessons in various languages, and lastly, his favored choice, the use of mutant abilities. Charles, certainly not smiling, acquiesced to his generous offer, and they had fallen in a sort of not entirely comfortable détente.

“Right. So why are we wasting our time here?” Jason demands, smirking at the attention he is receiving.

Ororo audibly gasps, open-mouthed, at his audacity and the rest of the class sits in stunned silence. All the students like Hank, even if he did stammer when he became excited in teaching his subjects, which is often, and goes off on unbelievably complicated tangents no one could understand, which is even more often. Such rudeness is unthinkable. 

Hank tries to remain calm, but he doesn’t realize he is blaring panic. Thankfully, Charles intervenes. Jason, step outside. Professor Rasputin is waiting to speak with you in his office. 

Jason’s face mottles in an ugly shade of embarrassed red. A giant chicken, incongruously dressed in a gray cardigan and brown slacks, abruptly materializes in the front of the classroom. Shocked, Hank jumps onto his desk. Jason snorts. The chicken squawks loudly, causing the rest of the students to jump.

Very amusing. However, the joke, you’ll find, is on you. Jason’s mouth drops as he sees the chicken dressed like Charles begin to peck at a comically wiggling large worm with Jason’s head. The students burst into laughter.

Jason hears them only dimly. For a horrible few moments, he is the worm, squirming in the chicken’s beak. 

Now then. I believe we were talking about Professor Rasputin’s office? 

Jason nods dumbly and walks to the door. 

As he disappears from view, everyone starts whispering until Hank clears his throat. “Class, please turn to page …”

*So I’m incorporating a bunch of mutants into the story without ever having read the comics and basically slaughtering their roles and personalities. Uh, sorry?


	9. jason stryker p2

PREVIOUS SCENE

Hank tries to remain calm, but he doesn't realize he is blaring panic. Thankfully, Charles intervenes. Jason, step outside. Professor Rasputin is waiting to speak with you in his office.

Jason's face mottles in an ugly shade of embarrassed red. A giant chicken, incongruously dressed in a gray cardigan and brown slacks, abruptly materializes in the front of the classroom. Shocked, Hank jumps onto his desk. Jason snorts. The chicken squawks loudly, causing the rest of the students to jump.

Very amusing. However, the joke, you'll find, is on you. Jason's mouth drops as he sees the chicken dressed like Charles begin to peck at a comically wiggling large worm with Jason's head. The students burst into laughter.

Jason hears them only dimly. For a horrible few moments, he is the worm, squirming in the chicken's beak.

Now then. I believe we were talking about Professor Rasputin's office?

Jason nods dumbly and walks to the door.

As he disappears from view, everyone starts whispering until Hank clears his throat. "Class, please turn to page …"

*So I'm incorporating a bunch of mutants into the story without ever having read the comics and basically slaughtering their roles and personalities. Uh, sorry?

/

"Professor Rasputin," Jason stammers, still in shock, upon entering the older mutant's office. The man is huge, tall and imposing. When Piotr Rasputin speaks, however, his voice is unexpectedly mild. "Dr. Xavier informs me there have been some concerning behavior on your part in classes."

Immediately less impressed by Rasputin, Jason recovers his sullen attitude and says nothing. It is apparent that he is only positively affected by a show of might, and wondering why someone like Magneto, who clearly emanates power, wasn't instructed to speak to him instead.

Rasputin frowns in thoughtful contemplation as if listening to someone, then tells Jason with maddening moderation, "Professor Lensherr is certainly more than capable of delivering stirring speeches on the subject of the superior mutant species. However, such sentiments would hardly help in solving the the situation at present."

Jason involuntarily shivers. It is as though there is a third presence is in the room. "So what's the punishment?" he says loudly in a display of bravado.

"Consider the lectures in the next few weeks to be an instructional period. After each session we will hold a discussion, followed by a thoughtful 5-7 page double-spaced essay mediating on the responsible use of mutant ability." Colossus give Jason a sympathetic smile which only serves to further irritate the boy. "Jason, I am an artist by choice, a mutant by nature. I understand the restrictions laid upon you must be frustrating, but try to look at the matter from a different perspective."

"And that would be?" Jason challenges, his gut boiling with growing outrage.

"We are not animals, to be determined purely by genetics. We mutants branched from homo sapiens, and from them we have the capability to think for ourselves about we who want to be. The decision is not dependent on the primal desire to take from those weaker than us."

Jason snorts and waves his arms in emphasis. "No offense, but you talk like an idiot, Prof. If I can screw with people's minds, why not do it? I can have whatever I want."

Rasputin nods, smiling somewhat ironically. "Technically speaking, I could crush your skull in less than a second."

Jason stares at the unassuming man sitting on the armchair across the desk, then starts to laugh. "Good one. Maybe if you keep on with this stupid monologue my head will just spontaneously implode."

In an instant a shining metallic layer completely covers Colossus' body. He leans over the desk, which shudders under the weight, and looks straight at the gaping boy. "That might save me some trouble," he says mildly. "But at this Institute, we're more interested in changing your mind than destroying it."

/

"Explain to me again how your techniques aren't brainwashing." Erik says. He and Charles are walking the Winchester estate grounds in one of the few times both can get away from the growing student body. They stop at the edge of a lake, as Erik sees that Charles is beginning to tire.

Charles leans on his cane and studies the shimmering surface of the water. "You speak of indoctrination."

"Yes. I'm even laying aside your telepathic habit of interfering with school instruction." Erik cocks an eyebrow, turning to look at Charles' meditative profile. He sits down in the grass and gestures for Charles to do the same.

Charles complies and with some effort lowers himself to the ground. He smiles. "I find it amusing that, if you were in my position you would justify literally wiping mentally slates clean-making mutants with lesser powers pawns, if you will-and yet you feign indignance when I try to educate children on how to make a better world."

"You do claim to be the better man," Erik reminds him, stretching his legs out in front of him. "And this better world-it's what you want, isn't it? "

"I said we could be," Charles corrects. "And if everyone can live peacefully with each other, I don't believe it's a selfish vision."

Erik closes his eyes and for a moment thinks back to his childhood, before the terrible wholesale massacre of Jews, when he played with friends who were Jews and Germans alike. And then ... "It's a fairytale."

"Perhaps there are happy endings, my friend." Charles spreads his arms as though by his sheer eagerness he could bring such a thing to pass. "If students here do not find the course of study to be beneficial, they are welcome to withdraw. But there is a home for them here."

Erik shrugs, ignoring the small flame of hope in his chest that, just maybe, Charles would be right this time. "That new boy, Jason. He's a troublemaker."

"Really." Charles raises an eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed." He sighs. "I'd have thought you'd like that."

"I would, if we were at cross purposes," Erik admits. "For now, I'm willing to go along with you, though."

"Why, thank you for your tolerance of my quirks," Charles replies sweetly, picking up grass blades and playfully tossing them at Erik.

"You shouldn't waste any more time on him," Erik warns, scowling as he brushes off the grass. "He's a scorpion, and a loner. He'll sting whoever's in his way, mutant or not."

Charles' expression is sad. "I don't want to give up on him."

"You never do," Erik tells him in mock annoyance. "It's one of your more endearing-and foolish-qualities."

"Your comment is appreciated for the compliment it is," Charles says primly, and moves to rise, as the wind is picking up.

As they walk back, Erik remarks, "Jean's abilities are becoming quite impressive." Indeed, the other day she had succeeded in completely pulverizing a number of increasingly larger objects with different densities. Erik couldn't help but wonder what she could do with independent one-on-one study with him.

Charles frowns. "Yes. In fact, I'm afraid-" he stops and gives a sidelong glance to Erik. What he sees apparently does not reassure him.

Erik opens the front door, then turns back to look at Charles when the man does not immeidately answer. "What are you afraid of?"

Charles claps him on the back and smiles at him, but his smile is odd. "Many things, my friend."

/

Please remember to review! 3


	10. to recognize the difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene is SO not a Cherik fic. It starts off as though it could be fluffy and cuddly, but Charles takes Erik’s love confession in a ... different direction. If I haven’t mentioned this, I am SO FURIOUS at Erik and his admittedly predictable douchebaggery in DoFP. So I wanted to address the serious issues on Charles’ behalf, if Charles had, you know, an unbroken backbone. So ... maybe this counts as BAMF!Charles, without action--just talking.
> 
> Slightly AU to Absolution

They’re arguing, again. The situation is inevitable, but Erik wishes Charles would just be reasonable. The humans won’t stop persecuting the mutants as long as the former exists--and Charles just goes on acting like he can solve the world’s problems with kindness.

Except, this isn’t really an argument. An argument takes two, and Charles begins the discussion by preempting Erik’s strongly worded assertions, and after, as usual, it becomes clear that neither of them will concede, and Erik continues pointing out what he thinks, blatantly ignores him.

God, Erik loves him. Charles’ incredible stubbornness, his adherence to his sense of principles, is unbelievably admirable. Even when Erik wants to throw things at him to get his attention.

“I love you,” Erik says candidly.

Charles doesn’t stop scribbling. “Oh?”

Erik blinks. “I’m in love with you,” he tries again.

“I commend you on your good taste. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to run a school.”

“But--but,” Erik says helplessly, spreading his hands. “Don’t you care?”

Charles finally puts down his pen and pins him with a stare. “Should I?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well, I don’t. In fact, it would be difficult for me to care less.”

“Why?” Erik demands.

“Erik, I saved you from killing yourself with your own obstinacy. You left me stranded on a beach, back broken, and took the only mode of transportation available. I’d say you demonstrated your affections quite obviously, and I decline to accept them..”

“Charles, I said I’m sorry.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Charles says blandly. “I’m overwhelmed with gratitude.” He deliberately pauses, then says flatly, “That you say you care about me in no way obligates me to return your feelings.”

Erik takes a deep breath. “You know what I think?”

“I do. But I sense you’re about to tell me anyway.” Charles frowns as he goes back to his work, tapping his pen against the desk.

“I think you’re frightened, and that being angry with me doesn’t preclude a relationship between us.”

“And I think you’re in denial. But, predictably, I see we’re not going to peacefully resolve the matter. Thus, we ought to go back to our original respective positions, and proceed with life. We always do, regardless of the importance of the issue.”

“If you don’t care, then clarify why I’m here at the school.”

Charles chuckles, without humor.“I don’t trust you outside of it. Is that clear enough?”

“I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not. I’ve always been, and will be, a mutant rights activist.”

“Mutant superiority terrorist, you mean.”

Erik is silent for some time, looking for signs of leniency. Then, “We’re not going to agree on this, are we?”

Charles glances up and arches an eyebrow. “Are you surprised? As I said, that’s always been the status quo.”

“For once, I refuse to accept that. This--you--are too important to me.”

Rotating his shoulders to ease the tension in his body after long hours of sitting, Charles then cocks his head. “It’s all about you, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Do you hear yourself? You refuse. Your feelings are too important to you.”

“My feelings for you--you don’t understand--” Deeply upset, Erik rises from his seat across Charles’ desk.

“And my feelings towards you don’t seem to be taken into consideration. You and Ra--Mystique. Of course I’m the one at fault, who doesn’t comprehend the truth, wants too much of you, fails you both when you need me the most. Well. I’m done with the guilt.” Charles sighs wearily as he pushes away from the desk and reaches for his cane as he stands up. “I’m having dinner with the students. Join us if you wish.” He limps to the door.

“You abandoned us!” Erik nearly shouts in desperation at Charles’ back.

Charles turns around, rolling his eyes. “Did I? I’m fairly sure that you and Mystique walked out. Several times, if I recall, yet I left the school door open when you two decided you needed sanctuary in the aftermath of perpetrating violence against civilians.”

“While you remain cooped up in your dreams, we acted,” Erik snarls, nostrils flaring.

Charles smiles ironically. “What would you say are the consequences of your actions?”

“The result is that the humans know that mutants exist and will take a stand.”

“The consequence is that humans are aware that mutants can be a threat to their species, and respond accordingly.”

“You stood by as our mutant brothers and sisters died in battle.”

Charles’ leans on his cane, expression simultaneously hard and sorrowful. “You started this war. I wish--I--I can’t--I can’t be everywhere at once.”

They have their backs to each other. Erik has a tight grip on the desk, angry that what he had imagined as a happy affair could have disintegrated into so ugly an argument. He laughs harshly. “You could have fooled me, with your seeming omnipotence.”

“Because you are a fool with delusions of grandeur,” Charles says coldly. “You value mutantkind only so far as you can fill the rank and file of your army, and care more about interesting genetic makeup than the person living in her blue skin. And she doesn’t even recognize the difference.” He turns away. At the doorway, he stops for a moment, and says softly, “I neither want nor need your kind of love.”


	11. charles and raven reunite p1

Please review, lovely readers! I am very encouraged by your comments and favorites/subscriptions/etc. Who knows, something really cool, like, INSPIRATION, might hit! :)

/

At first a sputtering, the rain has gradually grown into a downpour. It is very late, or early, in the small hours of the morning.

Raven creeps up to the massive double doors of the Westchester estate, dressed haphazardly in stolen clothing and possessing nothing else. Trembling, she stands for several minutes, able only to trace the intricate designs carved into the rich wood sightlessly with her eyes. Some rooms are brightly lit, indicating the wakefulness of the owners, but many are sleepily dark. She knows the latter belong to the younger children, courtesy of a curfew. Charles' study room is overflowing with warm gold light.

She breathes deeply and reaches forward with shaking hands. Just as her fingers graze the knob, the door opens, revealing Charles standing at the entrance. They stare at each other, and in her fear Raven is reading ominous rejection in his unsmiling face, when she notices dimly that he is carrying something. She flinches before she realizes that Charles has a large fluffy towel and robe flung over one arm and a steaming cup filled to the brim with deliciously dark cinnamon swirls, her favorite nighttime snack.

Taken aback, Raven tries to speak, but can only cough wetly. She wrings her hands in a helpless gesture.

Charles peers at her, cup of hot chocolate still outstretched. "I thought you'd be waiting out there all night." When she doesn't move, he makes an impatient "come hither" gesture. "Well, come in." He sighs. "Oh no, don't-"

Raven bursts into tears.

/

They sit in an uneasy silence in Charles' study. Rain continues to flow in translucent rivulets down the windows, but within the mansion all is warmth and comfort. Flames from the fireplace spark merrily, casting a golden glow on the massive, ornate furniture in the room.

It's a fanciful, lovely lie, Raven thinks as she huddles in an armchair conveniently located as close to the fire as possible. She has just come in for the moment from the cold world outside, and no matter how much she'd like to pretend that life is as rosy as it seems within, she knows it isn't. Not even a little bit.

Across the room, standing near his desk, Charles broods. Raven is naturally a master observer of habitual tells and character nuances, and now that Erik's glamour has worn off, she can bring herself to look at Charles without the red haze of anger. Her foster brother looks out the window at the drenched expanse of the Westchester grounds, eyes distant, fingers tapping on the pane.

After several minutes, she cannot bear the silence anymore. "Charles," she starts, apologies and regrets on her tongue.

For a long moment she thinks he is simply going to ignore her. "What," he says flatly. Before she can answer, he whirls around, the fury in his face frightening. "There is nothing you can say. You're sorry? Apology not accepted. You were wrong? Of course. You need me? I can see that."

Raven shudders with each terse word, knowing she deserves them all, and more.

Charles laughs shortly as he advances on her. There is something malevolently chilling in his gaze, the weight of unsatisfied rage at the betrayal with which the world has repaid his good intentions.

"You abandon me believe Erik over me why join with traitor bastard enemy why Magneto, work against me with him for every brick of peace I've laid the Brotherhood has torn away the foundations why, and then dare to come here to seek the sanctuary I've tried so hard to keep safe why why why why ?!

"Charles, please-!"

The walls begin to groan as an unseen force squeezes at their wooden ribs. Jagged cracks appear in the window glass, and rainwater begins to pour in to soak the carpet. Petrified, Raven can only stare as a frightfully cold wind rushes and, impossibly, upends the desk and slams it against the opposite wall, so close that Raven can feel its passing. The half-drunk cup drops from nerveless fingers and splatters before rolling to the grate of the fire. She falls to the ground, and despite knowing the irrationality of her actions, crawls behind the piano in a corner of the room.

You stupid little cockroach-you think you can hide from Me?

Sobbing, Raven shuts her eyes tightly. Here, locked in her head, especially here, she cannot get away. Charles is suddenly directly in front of her, coming closer and closer, passing through her, until she does not remember who she is, only knows that she has always lived in terror of the gleeful blue lights shining in the darkness, and that she must keep running-but she will never escape.

Raven jerks awake in the chair, gasping. The fire is still cheerfully burning. The pitter patter of rain hasn't stopped. The artfully arranged furniture hold their original placement. The mad Cheshire Cat grin cannot be erased from her mind, however.

Charles shows no reaction.

In fact, he hasn't even turned away from the window.

A few minutes pass before Raven can even get the breath to speak. She turns to the partially open study door as it creaks and a little girl's orange-pink nightgown reveals itself, and then the little girl herself makes an appearance.

"Professor, I called you," the child complains, a colorfully animated book hanging from her hand. "You didn't answer." She turns curious eyes on Raven. "Who's that?"

Charles startles. "I'm sorry, darling." He turns his full attention on her. "This is ... a guest."

'Oh." Jubilee loses interest in the stranger and returns to Charles. "I had a really scary dream. But it isn't just me, Professor," she says earnestly. "Everyone's awake." Indeed, now that Raven can hear over the pounding of her heart, the sound of murmurings and walking bare feet can be heard all about the house.

Charles blinks rapidly, as though rousing himself. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry," he murmurs, clearly alarmed. A series of rapid telepathic conversations take place, and in the meantime, presumably to create a sense of normalcy, Charles takes a seat on a couch, nodding and making sounds of reassurance.

When he finishes and the mansion is quiet once more, Jubilee still lingers at the door. "Um, Professor ... Can you read to me?" she asks shyly.

In response Charles smiles and opens his arms. Jubilee's eyes light up and she toddles toward the couch before climbing into his lap.

"I want to listen too-if that's okay," Raven says hastily before Charles can tell her to go away, to not interrupt this quiet time.

Charles looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then shrugs nonchalantly.

Raven sees her childhood with Charles as the telepath tucks the little girl close under his arm and dutifully reads a picture book with such perfect intonations and voice acting that there is no doubt he has performed this particular piece of literature many, many times. Jubilee is undeterred by the familiarity of the tale and excitedly finishes his sentences, frequently inserting her well-worn opinion on various personalities, sparks flying from her hands.


	12. charles and raven reunite p2

Please review, lovely readers! I am very encouraged by your comments and favorites/subscriptions/etc. Who knows, something really cool, like, INSPIRATION, might hit! :)

/

At first a sputtering, the rain has gradually grown into a downpour. It is very late, or early, in the small hours of the morning.

Raven creeps up to the massive double doors of the Westchester estate, dressed haphazardly in stolen clothing and possessing nothing else. Trembling, she stands for several minutes, able only to trace the intricate designs carved into the rich wood sightlessly with her eyes. Some rooms are brightly lit, indicating the wakefulness of the owners, but many are sleepily dark. She knows the latter belong to the younger children, courtesy of a curfew. Charles' study room is overflowing with warm gold light.

She breathes deeply and reaches forward with shaking hands. Just as her fingers graze the knob, the door opens, revealing Charles standing at the entrance. They stare at each other, and in her fear Raven is reading ominous rejection in his unsmiling face, when she notices dimly that he is carrying something. She flinches before she realizes that Charles has a large fluffy towel and robe flung over one arm and a steaming cup filled to the brim with deliciously dark cinnamon swirls, her favorite nighttime snack.

Taken aback, Raven tries to speak, but can only cough wetly. She wrings her hands in a helpless gesture.

Charles peers at her, cup of hot chocolate still outstretched. "I thought you'd be waiting out there all night." When she doesn't move, he makes an impatient "come hither" gesture. "Well, come in." He sighs. "Oh no, don't-"

Raven bursts into tears.

/

They sit in an uneasy silence in Charles' study. Rain continues to flow in translucent rivulets down the windows, but within the mansion all is warmth and comfort. Flames from the fireplace spark merrily, casting a golden glow on the massive, ornate furniture in the room.

It's a fanciful, lovely lie, Raven thinks as she huddles in an armchair conveniently located as close to the fire as possible. She has just come in for the moment from the cold world outside, and no matter how much she'd like to pretend that life is as rosy as it seems within, she knows it isn't. Not even a little bit.

Across the room, standing near his desk, Charles broods. Raven is naturally a master observer of habitual tells and character nuances, and now that Erik's glamour has worn off, she can bring herself to look at Charles without the red haze of anger. Her foster brother looks out the window at the drenched expanse of the Westchester grounds, eyes distant, fingers tapping on the pane.

After several minutes, she cannot bear the silence anymore. "Charles," she starts, apologies and regrets on her tongue.

For a long moment she thinks he is simply going to ignore her. "What," he says flatly. Before she can answer, he whirls around, the fury in his face frightening. "There is nothing you can say. You're sorry? Apology not accepted. You were wrong? Of course. You need me? I can see that."

Raven shudders with each terse word, knowing she deserves them all, and more.

Charles laughs shortly as he advances on her. There is something malevolently chilling in his gaze, the weight of unsatisfied rage at the betrayal with which the world has repaid his good intentions.

"You abandon me believe Erik over me why join with traitor bastard enemy why Magneto, work against me with him for every brick of peace I've laid the Brotherhood has torn away the foundations why, and then dare to come here to seek the sanctuary I've tried so hard to keep safe why why why why ?!

"Charles, please-!"

The walls begin to groan as an unseen force squeezes at their wooden ribs. Jagged cracks appear in the window glass, and rainwater begins to pour in to soak the carpet. Petrified, Raven can only stare as a frightfully cold wind rushes and, impossibly, upends the desk and slams it against the opposite wall, so close that Raven can feel its passing. The half-drunk cup drops from nerveless fingers and splatters before rolling to the grate of the fire. She falls to the ground, and despite knowing the irrationality of her actions, crawls behind the piano in a corner of the room.

You stupid little cockroach-you think you can hide from Me?

Sobbing, Raven shuts her eyes tightly. Here, locked in her head, especially here, she cannot get away. Charles is suddenly directly in front of her, coming closer and closer, passing through her, until she does not remember who she is, only knows that she has always lived in terror of the gleeful blue lights shining in the darkness, and that she must keep running-but she will never escape.

Raven jerks awake in the chair, gasping. The fire is still cheerfully burning. The pitter patter of rain hasn't stopped. The artfully arranged furniture hold their original placement. The mad Cheshire Cat grin cannot be erased from her mind, however.

Charles shows no reaction.

In fact, he hasn't even turned away from the window.

A few minutes pass before Raven can even get the breath to speak. She turns to the partially open study door as it creaks and a little girl's orange-pink nightgown reveals itself, and then the little girl herself makes an appearance.

"Professor, I called you," the child complains, a colorfully animated book hanging from her hand. "You didn't answer." She turns curious eyes on Raven. "Who's that?"

Charles startles. "I'm sorry, darling." He turns his full attention on her. "This is ... a guest."

'Oh." Jubilee loses interest in the stranger and returns to Charles. "I had a really scary dream. But it isn't just me, Professor," she says earnestly. "Everyone's awake." Indeed, now that Raven can hear over the pounding of her heart, the sound of murmurings and walking bare feet can be heard all about the house.

Charles blinks rapidly, as though rousing himself. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry," he murmurs, clearly alarmed. A series of rapid telepathic conversations take place, and in the meantime, presumably to create a sense of normalcy, Charles takes a seat on a couch, nodding and making sounds of reassurance.

When he finishes and the mansion is quiet once more, Jubilee still lingers at the door. "Um, Professor ... Can you read to me?" she asks shyly.

In response Charles smiles and opens his arms. Jubilee's eyes light up and she toddles toward the couch before climbing into his lap.

"I want to listen too-if that's okay," Raven says hastily before Charles can tell her to go away, to not interrupt this quiet time.

Charles looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then shrugs nonchalantly.

Raven sees her childhood with Charles as the telepath tucks the little girl close under his arm and dutifully reads a picture book with such perfect intonations and voice acting that there is no doubt he has performed this particular piece of literature many, many times. Jubilee is undeterred by the familiarity of the tale and excitedly finishes his sentences, frequently inserting her well-worn opinion on various personalities, sparks flying from her hands.


	13. the phoenix rises UPDATE

The mission is over. God, Erik will never forget the horrors he's seen in the last few hours. Mutant after mutant in varying states of experimental dissection and forced holdings. Mutants dosed with what turned out to a lobotomized Jason Stryker's brain fluids, controlled and made to guard this house of horrors.

Charles, Erik, Logan, and Alex had arrived at this particular facility to shut it down for good, while Mystique, Colossus, Banshee, Emma, and more X-men in separate groups had made simultaneous strikes on various other sites. This one, though, with the tightest security ... disguised as an anti-mutant sympathizer at the very top of the chain, Mystique had caught the barest whiff of a top-secret extra-governmental project and reported the information and codes to Charles, who used Cerebro to investigate. He'd emerged shaking and covered in cold sweat from the experience, and immediately put together teams to salvage the remains of the mutants he'd discovered, and destroy the rest.

Everyone is gray with exhaustion, Charles more from withholding and defending than attacking. Charles had managed to put down the mutants without harming them, but as for the humans involved ... the others had no scruples regarding the scientists or officers. Logan had positively dug in, Erik had deflected the weapons, and Alex, well, he'd blasted the entire underground structure to nothing.

Erik is doing last minute checks for any moving metal signaling approaching guns, and consequently, human reinforcements. Alex has just stepped onto the Blackbird and is holding out his hand to help Charles up when Charles stumbles back and would have fallen if Logan had not caught him. "Some sort of ... supernova went off ..." Charles stammers, then recovers himself. "We have to go back. Logan, fly the Blackbird to the mansion."

They glance at each other. Alex voices the obvious question. "Um, Professor, how will we get back?"

Charles smiles grimly. "Erik, Alex, and I will go another way. Our ride happens to less than 50 miles from here."

Suddenly Azazeal is in their midst. Alex steps back, hand glowing red and raised to blast this new unexpected threat before he takes note that the other mutant is quite impressively under-dressed to attack anyone. In fact, if anything, Azazeal looks prepared only to go to bed.

Charles orders, "Westchester. Now."

The devilish looking mutant regards them with an impressive glower, though in reality his expression might have been merely blank. It is hard to tell, with his usual face akin to that of a ritual mask used in Satanic worship. "I'm not your private chauffeur, Xavier."

"Nice trick," Erik comments. "I could never get him to play fetch properly, myself."

Alex is about to make a petty remark on revealing male sleepwear but the intense worry on Charles' face precludes this occasion being one of levity.

''I won't ask again," Charles tells him, voice steely, as he holds out an imperious hand. Now definitely glaring, Azazeal complies, transporting Charles, Erik, and Alex back to the school.

They arrive at the estate to a scene of flaming ruin and screams of fearful confusion. Ororo is bravely trying to extinguish the flames by calling down rain but she is only a scared 13-year-old. Hank and Mystique are herding the children away from the collapsing mansion wing as Sean uses his shrieks to blow the debris in the other direction.

"Better look to your own, Xavier," Azazeal shrugs nonchalantly before disappearing in his customary red smoke.

Charles, Erik can see, is too stunned by the destruction to act immediately. After only a moment to take in the situation, Erik throws up his hands to stop the metal in what had been a bedroom ceiling from falling down on a boy who is simply standing there, eyes open and blaring panic-

"Scott!" Alex yells, sprinting toward his brother. "You have to shut your eyes!"

Scott starts to turn toward them, eyes still wide and shocked. Alex is immune to the glare, but Erik sees death for himself and Charles in the boy's gaze-until Charles, face blank, starts to push. Push back. The force of his own optic beam is going to to blow Scott into oblivion.

"Charles!" Erik barks in warning, reaching out a hand and shaking him.

The telepath looks past him, through him. In Charles' sightless blue eyes he sees ice enveloping fire.

"Stop!" Alex screams, halfway across the lawn and looking agonized.

When Charles only continues to look on with a closed expression, Erik tackles him to the ground. The action is effective; it gets the telepath's attention and takes them out of the line of fire before Alex can calm his shell-shocked brother.

Charles shoves him off. "What the hell-" he starts to snap, then trails off as he looks around, "... happened here?"

"Talk later," Erik commands. "We have work to do."

Colossus has done an admirable job of holding up falling floors, it is discovered. However, at least a third of the mansion is decimated, partly from Scott's optic beams, and partly from ...

"... the emergence of the Phoenix. That's what Jean called herself," Hank reports from his seat on what had been a fireplace mantle and is now a burnt-out hollow.

"What the hell kind of name is that," Logan mutters.

"The Phoenix is a mythical creature that rises from her ashes and-" Hank retreats at Logan's brittle stare.

Charles does not appear to paying attention. His lips are moving, mouthing again and again, "Oh, God. Oh, God-"

Erik gazes at the incredible destruction wrought by the Phoenix, the huddled groups of students in pajamas on the lawn, and perhaps even more worrisome, Charles' reaction. "-help us all," he murmurs, with only the barest trace of irony.

/

*author is sad because no one leaves reviews* Huh. Guess I'm doing something wrong. :(


	14. near THE END

/////

Onslaught catches him as he lies in bed, staring at the high pebbled ceiling above. Even the usual background noise of the other inhabitants in the mansion is unable to lull him to sleep. 

Think of what we could accomplish, together. We want the same thing. Join Me.

No. Charles can hear his own desperation as he tries to deny the voice in his head.

Onslaught tsked. Charles, Charles. You know what must be done. Let me in.

There has to be another way! I can’t … I can’t just …

Onslaught smiles his usual Cheshire cat smile, eyes glowing more brilliantly blue than human genetics allow. I’m afraid you’re out of time—I can afford to wait. Can you? 

//////

Charles is sitting on the front steps of the entrance to the Xavier mansion, the last significant refuge of mutants with kindly intentions toward humans, when Erik returns with a straggle of the Brotherhood; of course Erik had had no trouble with the metal gates leading to the grounds.

“Back so soon?” Charles asks, with admirably restrained sarcasm. “I hardly had time to miss you.” He looks worn. He has grown something approaching a beard, and long hair.

“You know why,” Erik says shortly. “But I’ll fill you in, because I like the sound of my voice. The Phoenix has usurped my position as head of the mutant movement for freedom.” 

Charles glances over the pitiful remnants of the once swelling crowd of the Brotherhood. “And taken many of your pawns, I see.” He gets to his feet. “Well, come in. You’re late, actually. We’re about to discuss what can be done.”

“If anything,” Erik says dryly.

“I think we have one last option.” 

/////

Enraged by the Phoenix’s wanton destruction, humans are similarly wreaking vengeance on mutants everywhere. 

United at last against a common foe, the Brotherhood and X-Men, working under the coordinated efforts of Charles and Erik with input from senior mutants like Logan. The last and Hank will stay behind to protect the young mutants collected in the hugely enlarged (by Erik) underground bunker. Built to withstand a nuclear war, hopefully it will do the same against the Phoenix. 

“I don’t like it,” Logan mutters, stubbing out his cigarette on his hand. Charles winces. “I should be out there with you and Magneto.”

Charles smiles at him. “You’re a last defense, to be put to use only in the event that everyone else fails. Your job is the most important of all—keeping the next generation of mutants safe.” 

“Cut the bull, Professor.” But Logan waves him away. “I get it. Go and get Jean back.” 

/////

Raven takes a good look at Charles once she neatly cuts away the last excess strands. He is newly clean-shaven, and looks much younger than yesterday, although she suspects the lines of strain on his face will always remain as marks of the extreme stress under which he labors. 

Charles grins at her with a trace of his roguish, womanizing ways. “Would you date me?” he inquires innocently.

Raven’s lips twitch. “Of course I would. You’re stunning.” 

He comes closer and enfolds her in a close embrace. “You’re my oldest friend,” Charles murmurs.

“But not your only friend,” she finishes warmly.

Charles says nothing, releases her, smiles, and goes to change. The next time she sees him, he is at his desk, neatly dressed in his once familiar cardigans and is nearly indistinguishable from the charming and irrepressible young man she knew years ago. 

She approaches, and sees that he is, impossibly, grading papers. No, she realizes. He is reading old student letters expressing their appreciation at acceptance to the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, carefully setting one aside after another.

On observing her presence, he stands up, and with her impeccable eye for detail, she notes how carefully he has prepared himself for the upcoming confrontation, from his posture and expression to the shine on his shoes and cane. 

“Funny how time passes,” is his only comment as they walk out of the room into the drizzling morning, Raven with a hand on the small of his back as Charles limps forward. 

/////

The plan is childishly simple, actually. In a pincer movement, Erik and Alex will use the mutants under their command to close ranks on the Phoenix’s minions in a concentrated attack.   
As the Phoenix is forced to try to be everywhere at once, Emma will telepathically do what she can to distract Her. 

Everything leads to Charles, who assures his friends that he has a final magic trick, one he does not really elaborate on. The mutants following him have such unshakeable faith in their Professor that they only nod and agree. 

They are standing in quiet on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial when Erik holds out a hand. “Goodbye, old friend.”

Charles smiles at him fondly. “Goodbye, Erik.” One day, we will all be together again. Charles’ image suddenly blurs, as if Erik is looking at him through tears.


	15. The END (updated) 1/2

Final Chapter UPDATED (1/2)

MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH FOLLOWING. 

Every so often, Jean dreams of things that can’t possibly be true, or untrue. She thinks these are the last wisps of Phoenix’s fire in her, but she can’t be sure. At the funeral she had said in her speech that that the first vision she sees before waking up is the Professor smiling at her. When she opens her eyes, he is dead. 

A warning. 

By his example, Charles Xavier had ensured that Jean Grey would have the life he took from himself. The Professor would rather die than allow Onslaught to control him; he had, and destroyed Onslaught as well. 

What Jean didn’t tell the world was that Charles had implanted this fear of death into Phoenix, even as he played Onslaught. 

“You wouldn’t dare!” Phoenix had shrieked as Onslaught held her shining form in the palm of his closing hand. “I’m the better—the best part—of Jean! She can’t take a breath without me!”

Onslaught stroked the crown of her head with a finger. “Yes, my dear little bird. I would agree, but our good Professor here is rather adamant that Jean is to be in control. Per our mutually binding agreement, I must insist you blink out, so to speak.”

On the other side of Onslaught, Charles bent in close and whispered to her words that Onslaught could not make out. Phoenix shivered, and grew dim. “Prove it, and I swear on my existence, I will not act apart from Jean Grey again.” She cast a furtive glance at Onslaught, who only grinned. He knew there was nothing Charles could do to alter a single word of what he had promised to give over—himself, as a vessel. 

"It's going to be alright, Jean. I promise," Charles reassures her, holding the sobbing young woman in his arms and stroking her long red hair. "Remember ... don't let it control you." He releases Jean and steps back, smiling gently. Then his eyes begin to frost a lighter blue and his mouth is curling into a hard smile when suddenly he gives a great shudder and slumps to the ground; simultaneously, there's an enormous white explosion behind everyone's eyelids. When the mental debris clears several minutes later, Jean leans over his fallen body and shakes him. "Professor? Professor!" she shrieks, patting his slack face in a panic.

The others rush over. "I'm sure he's probably just exhausted," Hank says in an attempt to calm himself and everyone else.

"No. He's … he's gone," Jeans says blankly, in shock. Then her face crumples, and she goes into hysterics. "He's … he's …gone! He's gone!"

In his terror, Erik grabs her shoulders and shakes her. "What do you mean!"

Jean's mouth works, and it is a long minute before she can speak further. "It's like … it's like a telepathic nuclear bomb went off just now. And then he … the Professor … he shut down." She sobs at the last.

Standing at some distance, Frost says in a neutral tone, "She means to say that Charles is dead. He must have created a mental failsafe in case Onslaught took over. Defeating the Phoenix only to have Onslaught as a menace to the world would have been much worse than useless."

Eyes widening, Hank checks Charles' pulse and heartbeat. "It's … it's true," he says, very quietly. Alex and Sean, Charles first students, stare at their mentor's peaceful visage and still body. It's a nightmare version of the terrible day at the beach.

Sean shrieks, and the others cringe. "Do something! Jean, Frost, there must be something—"

Frost shrugs, though there is some admiration buried in her cool expression. "Unless someone here has the power to raise the dead, there's really nothing any of us can do. Anyway," she continues reasonably, "there would always have been the strong probability that Onslaught could prevail, and I'm sure your dear professor wanted to avoid that—"

Alex breaks in, blazing red hot until everyone is forced to pull back, shoots to his feet. "This can't be happening," he whispers. "He's sacrificed so much already."  
Of them all, only Mystique is silent, tears trickling down her face. Erik turns to her. "Did you know this would happen?"  
Mystique gulps back sobs.

"Did you know!" Erik shouts, losing control, the metal in the room yanked off clothes and anything else, and coming to hover around his former first lieutenant.  
"I—I thought he might," she whispers, almost inaudibly. "You don't understand—he was so desperate to find a solution to everything—there was no one in whom he could confide-"

"You should have warned us—we would have stopped him-!" Erik snarls, rising to tower over her.  
"And then what?" Mystique yells back, expression twisted with guilt. "There was no other way, and he knew it! You were the one who made this situation, and he had fix it! Now he's dead, and it's your fault!"

Logan slouches against the wall, arms crossed nonchalantly, but his voice is huskier than usual as he orders, "Stop bitching! That means fucking everyone." He clears his throat and jerking his head to where Charles is quietly lying, growls, “There's someone more important than that kind of shit."

You did this.

Stunned with this revelation, Erik sinks back to his knees. He gently gathers Charles' body into his arms, and cries in desolation, as he had not done even at his mother's death, for in this case there is no one else to blame.

*****

The actual funeral is a quiet affair, attended only by those present at the final moments. Afterward, the children leave wreaths around the coffin. Erik and Mystique makes brief speeches, though bitterness is evident against them, everyone knows that the two were closest to Charles. There is a separate presentation for the world, for which the students make a video of themselves avowing the Professor's dedication to the cause of mutant-human peaceful relations.

TV stations broadcast the news for weeks afterward. Reactions from mutants and humans alike are overall very positive; some are less so.

"If the freaks hadn't started it, that kooky mutant professor wouldn't have needed to get himself killed," one U.S. senator informs the cameras.

*****

A hollowness permeates the mansion. Despite the great number of people currently living in it, without Charles' mental voice bustling about, things are strangely quiet. Erik sits on the armchair in the study, across from his old friend's seat, the chess board before him.

More astonishing than Charles’s last show of his powers, already impressive enough, was the thoughtfulness that had gone into small expressions of affection for each inhabitant of the Xavier Institute. Coming back to her room for the last time to clean out her belongings, Rogue cries when she sees her note, an apology from Charles that that they hadn’t found a solution for the less desirable effects of her mutation, and that he understood her decision to take the Cure. Bobby he chides for being an insensitive teenage boy, though of course he couldn’t help that, but his Ice Man form would surely benefit from longer exposure to the abilities of a fellow mutant, Roberto aka Sunspot, as opposed to hanging out with Pyro all the time, that one needed some guidance, perhaps a few lessons in not being a bully … 

Raven and Erik found nothing waiting for them, and both knew why. Charles had already said, many times before, what he had wanted to say to them.

Charles had almost won when they were interrupted by the reports of Phoenix ravaging the city, Erik realizes only slowly. He has been staring sightlessly at the chess board for over an hour. With a small, humorless smile, Erik makes the last two moves on Charles's white piece.

The game is finished.

*****  
7 years later.

Erik looks out the windows to the vibrant grounds, filled with children whooping happily, playing while recess is in session.

Charles would have wanted to see this. The unbidden thought casts a melancholy gray over the jovial scene. As Charles had wanted, they had spread his ashes over the estate. He is home, now, with them all.

Ororo, now a beautiful young woman, comes to stand beside him. "Things are going well, aren't they, Erik?"

He turns to her and smiles. She'll make a fine headmaster after he's gone. "I think so," he agrees. Hank has taken his place in the senate as the youngest representative ever, and Alex is now a fiery activist for mutant rights who manages to stay just within the law but definitely does much for the cause. Shockingly, Sean studied hard to become a social studies teacher at the school when he is not working with students to improve their handling of their abilities.

Jean has never fully recovered from her role in Charles' death, but she puts on a brave face and travels the world raising mutant awareness, educating mutants and humans alike on living together in harmony. Unsurprisingly, though Scott shyly hovers around the issue for an irritating amount of time, she and Scott married. Scott proves to be an effective leader in the field, though he and Logan often go head to head on how exactly to approach matters on the occasions they work together.

Logan occasionally drops by the school, grumbles about how soft everyone has grown, terrifies the students, and then leaves for his wanderings. Erik doesn't inquire how he spends his time, but every so often the mutant grapevine whispers

that another dubious "science facility for the study of mutants" and "unofficial camps" have been taken down. As for Mystique, she eventually regains her powers, and melts away into the mass of humans, and returns to the school only once a year, the anniversary of Charles' death.

Sometimes Erik still gets the urge, when an interesting matter arises in international affairs on the news or a student is especially troublesome, to consult Charles. Then he remembers that he cannot, and the sorrow comes back as strong as the day of his friend's death. And he knows that Charles would not have wanted him to grieve so much for so long, but there is no way out of this self-made prison of mourning.

Charles had been far from perfection, but his occasional dark moods, manipulative tendencies, and sometimes unbearable arrogance had been so very finely tempered by his great kindness, understanding patience, and idealistic vision of harmony. Even now, as a strong leader in full maturity and mastery of his powers, Erik wants to beg for forgiveness and weep like a child for an absolution that will never come, because Charles is not alive to give it.

He remembers, too, their mutual promise: no matter how bad things got between them, how viciously they each fought for their differing ideals, one would never keep the other against his will again.

Ororo looks at him and sees that he is lost in thought. "I'll leave you alone, then," she says kindly, exiting the room and softly closing the door.

Erik barely notices, lost in his musings. He can't adhere that promise either, though he's tried with all his waning strength; the years have passed so very painfully, and he is tired of fighting. He keeps Charles tucked away in his heart, safe from the world and its injustice and cruelty, for the rest of his life.

END, part 1/2, tbc (2/2 will encompass my creative response to Apocalypse)

PREVIEW

“It’s good to see you, Raven,” Charles smiled widely, expression bright and hopeful. “Welcome home.”

“This was your home,” Raven said flatly. “I just lived here.”

Charles looked at her. “You came to me,” he said eventually, after a pause. “Do you remember?”


	16. You Came to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate conversation to the one that took place in XMA between Raven and Charles. I'm open to tackling more of their dysfunctional relationship, if people are interested. :)

How the conversation SHOULD have gone *bitter*

"It's good to see you, Raven," Charles's face broke into a wide smile, expression bright and hopeful. "Welcome home."

"This was your home," Raven said flatly. "I just lived here."

His obvious happiness dimmed. Charles looked at her. "You came to me," he said eventually, after a pause. "Do you remember?" Voice quiet, he continued, "You broke into my house, lived with me with two decades as my sister, yet you say this was never your home."

Raven snorted and drummed her fingers on the chair arms. "Charles, don't pick at my words. For all your powers, you don't understand me."

Charles rotated his wheelchair slightly to the side, to look out the window. "I suppose that's true. Though, I hope you'll admit, I haven't had the benefit of using my powers with you, having kept my promise to you these fifty years save once."

"You owe me that much," Raven told him. "I was your pet companion, someone you didn't find cute anymore after I realized how much more I could be than what you believed."

"Yes." The sound of the children playing outside drifted into the study. "I've held you back from being a hero. Building a school holds no charms for a warrior." He gestured at his useless legs. "I am of no value to you or your cause, not like Erik."

"That's why I'm here," Raven leaned forward, eager to move the bitter conversation to a new topic. "Erik's resurfaced."

"Has he?" Charles was silent for a moment. "Everyone will be looking for him."

"We have to find him before they do," Raven said, the stunning face of her favored blond form tensing in determination.

"Certainly." He did not move.

Impatiently, she stood. "Where's Cerebro?"

"You'll find it in the basement. Ask Hank. I'm sure he'll be delighted to assist you in using it as I return to my duties as headmaster and professor here."

Raven glared. "I'm not sorry, Charles, for becoming who I am today," she flatly. "And I don't plan to be like you—a daydreamer lost in the idylls of a past that didn't exist except in his imagination."

"You misunderstand. You don't know me, if you care to, if you think that's what I want from you. Well, anyway." Charles sighed and turned away from her to retrieve a book from the shelf behind him. "Often, it's not the place to apologize. And sometimes, it's too late."

"Charles, I'm not going to let you abandon Erik—" she stepped forward.

"There's something greater than you or Erik that I must attend to," he interrupted coolly. "An incredible power on earth that's woken after a thousand years." Placing the book in his lap, he rolled the wheelchair forward to the door. She stood behind him, frustrated. Charles glanced back. "Are you coming? If I had psychic abilities," here he smiled faintly, "I might say that one Erik Lensherr is most likely involved as well."

She couldn't help huffing a small laugh at this. As she came up beside him, she saw that the book on his lap was the Bible.


End file.
